


Born Unto Darkness

by corvusdraconis, Dragon_and_the_Rose, Hollowg1rl



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, crackfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 14:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 103,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14750382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvusdraconis/pseuds/corvusdraconis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_and_the_Rose/pseuds/Dragon_and_the_Rose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hollowg1rl/pseuds/Hollowg1rl
Summary: [HG/SS] In her third year, when Hermione throws herself in front of Harry to protect him from the Dementors something strange happens. She awakens to a legacy she had no idea she even had, and it turns the entire school upside-down— and beyond. Crackfic. AU. EWE. NC. (all that jazz).





	1. Discussion With Dementors

**Author's Note:**

> Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard.  
> A/N: This is a total crackerjack crackfic, complete with tasty nuts. Don't judge me. (I've had a few requests for Dementor type stories, and my brain had a few on the back burner as well, so here goes!)

 

* * *

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

_Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before._

Edgar Allan Poe

A bitter, insidious coldness spread throughout the Hogwarts Express, dragging a heavy weight of darkness along with it. Eerie shapes and shadows moved within the train's corridor, and the trio could hear yells and cries from throughout the train. The train seemed to come to a halt— frozen on the tracks in the middle somewhere between London and Scotland.

"Have you ever heard of the train stopping along the way like this?" Harry asked Ronald.

Ron shook his head. "Something's odd, mate. Really odd." He rubbed his shoulders with his hands. "It's bloody cold too."

Hermione was deep in her book, not paying attention, having learned a long time ago to tune them out when they started babbling about Quidditch and other such things. The talk of Sirius Black, while new and interesting, had piqued her interest to see if she could find anything about him in her books. She flipped the pages of her book every so often, her eyes deep into scanning the page for every tidbit of knowledge she could soak in.

"Do you think it might have something to do with Sirius Black?"

"I don't know, Ron," Harry said uneasily. He looked over to where someone was still managing to sleep under their coat, and wondered how they managed to do that with a jerk-stopping train and the temperature dropping so drastically.

"I mean, no one has  _ever_ escaped Azkaban before, and, well, he's a raging, murderous lunatic," Ron rambled.

"Thanks for that, Ron," Harry said, giving him an annoyed glare.

The lights were going out one by one, and looking out the window was getting hard due to the rapidly-building frost. They could tell the train was on a bridge of some sort, but nothing else. They were at a dead stop with no idea why or how.

"Hermione," Ron said, nudging her.

"Ow, Ron!" Hermione said, putting her book down to glare at him.

Ron's eyes grew ride as flickering shadows moved in the corridor. Long bony fingers stretched out toward the door, and moved like they were going to touch the door. The door handle moved by itself, and the door slid open to expose a tall figure draped in dark, tattered robes, almost like gauze. A soul-deep heaviness descended upon the compartment, and a horrible sense of despair seemed to slither in.

The creature, its head covered entirely by a hood, turned, searching the train compartment, a low, rasping hiss of breath seemed to come from within.

Harry was paralysed with fear as the creature neared, seemingly drawn to him more than Ron or Hermione or even the guest by the window. Crookshanks  _hissed_ , and Scabbers dove into Ron's coat almost completely, save for his tail.

Harry jerked and spasmed as the creature neared, its elongated, almost dead, slimy-looking hands extending outward.

"That's not nice!" Hermione cried out, standing up between them, her face scowling like the creature had attempted to cheat on their homework. "If you were looking for someone, you could have just asked!"

"Mione, what the  _hell_ are you doing?" Ron blurted.

The creature floated there for a moment and seemed to drop its head in shame.

"It's fine— just don't ever do that again, okay? You probably scared everyone on the train with that creepy floating." Hermione sat back down on the seat.

The creature extended its hand; a chocolate bar between the fingers.

"Oh, thank you," Hermione said. "That's very considerate of you."

She took the chocolate as the creature floated away down the corridor. She unwrapped and broke it up, passing a piece to Harry and Ron. Ron shook his head crazily like it was on a bobble-head, and Harry was too numb to even care where the food came from and just ate it without a word.

"What the hell, Mione?!" Ron yelled. "You accept chocolate from some, some— _thing_ , and then you act like nothing happened?"

"He was looking for Sirius Black," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "And he was rude about it. The chocolate was an apology."

Ron looked at her like she'd sprouted at least two new heads of a different species.

"Young lady, that was a Dementor," a sandy-haired man said from the window. He had uncovered himself from his coat. "They are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth— they guard Azkaban, draining all the peace, hope, and happiness out of the very air around them, ensuring that none can leave the prison walls."

"He wasn't foul; he was rude," Hermione said, making a face, staring back into her book. "And he apologised."

The man looked like he was trying to say something in response, but his mouth worked up and down without a sound.

The train ride back to Hogwarts, thankfully, Ron focused more on dealing with Harry's stammering about hearing screaming, and Hermione tried to ignore the strange stare coming from the man by the window.

* * *

When they got to Hogsmeade, the carriages were full save for three spots, and Harry and Ron quickly took into two of them as the man who had travelled by the window with them took the third.

As Hermione tried to get towards one that looked like it had seats, the children frantically gestured, and the carriage took off without her, leaving Hermione with her things as she waited for a carriage to come back for her. She wondered if it was because of the Dementors.

Dementors.

It seemed like a rather horrible name.

The weather was  _also_ horrible, and it was misting too.

She sat on the side-wall, brooding.

A warm cloak wrapped around her, and she startled to see the Dementor floating there with a few of his compatriots. They glided around her like a school of fish.

"There just weren't any carriages left," Hermione said. "I think they were all afraid because of the Sirius Black thing," she added.

The Dementors seemed to glower silently, which wasn't hard considering they looked like dark spectres already.

"You don't know how he escaped?" Hermione boggled. "That must make you pretty angry. If I had to be in charge of a prison, I mean. Not that I'd ever want to. I could think of better places to have a job."

Hermione sighed, and found herself leaning into her Dementor companion. He wrapped one arm around her, and she savoured the unexpected warmth that came from him. "I guess I should start walking towards Hogwarts. I'm getting really hungry."

As she stood to start walking, she let out a small squeal as the Dementor picked her up, cradling her to its chest, and took off into the air towards Hogwarts. She wrapped her arms around its head with a cry of surprise, still slightly terrified by the idea of flying— and yet it felt much safer than a broom, at least. He was carrying her, and it was strangely comforting to be carried so close to someone.

The Dementor covered her with her cloak, tucking her against himself so the wind and mist didn't chill her, and she found that the longer she was pressed up against him, the warmer it became, even though the very air around them seemed to chill and darken.

Her spectre-like friend set her down at the gates of Hogwarts, and she felt a little sadness in parting. "Thank you," she said. She placed her hand over the Dementor's gnarled hands. The Dementors drifted around her, and she ended up hugging them too. She imagined they didn't get enough hugs to go around looking as they did. They didn't seem to mind.

As they floated up around the edges of Hogwarts, Hermione couldn't help but wonder why they were there at Hogwarts at all.

* * *

Hermione was looking forward to getting a good night's sleep when she found her trunk sitting outside of the dorm with the door firmly closed. Trying to open the door with  _Alohomora_  only demonstrated that all the wardrobes must have been stacked against the door with the clear intent of keeping her out.

"What's going  _ **on**_ in there?" Hermione yelled into the room. "Let me in, this is my room too!"

"We're not sharing a room with someone who talks to  _ **Dementors!**_ " Lavender's voice yelled back.

"So you just wanted me to what? Scream and faint like a ninny?" Hermione yelled back.

"Yeah, at least you'd be  _ **NORMAL!**_ " Parvati added.

Hermione sighed. All the other dorm doors were barred as well, not that she expected any of them to have room for her. Each room was full, unless you wanted to sleep on the floor.

Grumbling in annoyance, Hermione placed a levitating charm on her trunk and pushed it in front of her, exiting the girl's dorms and out of the common room. After seeing them all huddled together, fearfully shying away from her, she walked out of there too, past the portrait of the Fat Lady and into the hallway. She wondered where Crookshanks was. Maybe he was waiting on what should have been her bed. Her poor cat would have had no idea that other girls would have barricaded  _her_ out specifically.

The thought about going to see her Head of House, but she didn't want to get anyone in trouble and possibly make things even worse for herself. She sat down heavily on her trunk in the hallway, resting her head in her hands.

"What are you doing out here in the halls, miss?" Filch asked, petting Mrs Norris as he stopped.

Hermione sighed. "Nothing, it seems."

"Shouldn't you be back in the dorms with your housemates?"

"They don't appear to want me there."

She could practically hear him frowning at her. "How would you be knowing that, miss?"

Hermione snorted. "They barricaded me out of my dorm room. And let me know in no uncertain terms that I was not welcome there."

Filch, who had never been one to show a lick of care for anyone, sighed. "Why don't you come with me, miss. The teachers are all in a staff meeting until late tonight due to all the Dementors being around. I can give you a cot and some space until you can talk to your Head of House."

"I'd rather not talk to her."

The unasked  _why_ hung in the air.

"I really don't want to get anyone in trouble, Mr Filch."

"Well, we'll worry about that in the morning, miss. Come along, now." He beckoned, and Hermione followed, bringing her trunk, floating ahead of her as she guided it along.

When she got to Filch's quarters, she was surprised to see how unkempt it was, almost as if someone had inadvertently forgotten to let the house-elves know his quarters existed. Boxes were stacked haphazardly in there, keeping him from really expanding in the room, and he had to move some things over to make her a private place in between the boxes.

"You can sleep here tonight, miss," he said. "Apologies for all the clutter. "Have to do all the cleaning myself, and the elves don't much care to come in here." He took out an old curtain that looked like it had once belonged on a four poster bed, and used it to give her some privacy.

Hermione, looking around, put her hands in her lap. "Um, not to assume, sir, but would you like some help cleaning the place up? I don't mind helping out at all, and I— I would really like something to distract me from remembering I've been kicked out of my own dorm."

Filch tilted his head curiously. "I— I've never had anyone offer before."

"I'm offering," Hermione said kindly.

Filch looked at her with a strange, gobsmacked expression. "I would appreciate it."

Hermione smiled. "I'm doing pretty well in Transfiguration, so the practice sure couldn't hurt."

Hermione helped first by helping him dig out his living space. Thankfully, what with being cluttered with so much stuff he wasn't using, it made perfect fodder for being turned into something else. She helped him wrench open the old window, and a quick cleaning spell sent all the accumulated dust and debris flying out the window in a mass exodus. She transfigured the old Oriental rug until it looked brand new, turned his small cot into an extra large four-poster bed that would make Lavender sob with envy, and transfigured his moth-eaten old linens into a beautiful, creamy silk. There were a few misses, having made it into a few different fabrics that were not very slumber-compatible, but she finally ended up with something she thought was silk— or at least passed well enough for silk.

She turned an old wooden box into a comfy cat-condo the likes of which even the feline gods would adore, putting more cat shelves around the newly stocked bookshelves that she'd created so that Mrs Norris could climb around as much as she desired and be the reigning queen of the room. She crafted him a lovely wooden dining room table with plush seats just like her parents had, having no other memories with which to work from, and found the fireplace he hadn't even realised he'd had. The oldest, gnarliest-looking crates went into the fire to give him some warmth, and the made a cast-iron poker and shovel set like the one her dad liked best.

She made a few plush, overstuffed armchairs and a settee or three, letting him figure out which one he wanted, but he ended up wanting all of them. One for him, one for Mrs Norris, and one for guests— which seemed to be just her.

Hermione soon found that Mrs Norris was following her around, not to be annoying, but to see what else she was going to make. Hermione made her an enchanted catnip mouse just like the one Crookshanks loved, and the feline promptly went tearing after it with unholy glee.

She frowned at the poor state of the loo, seeing how it was also terribly crowded with boxes, and gave him a decent medicine cabinet with mirror, towel holder, and extra fluffy towels— coloured neutrally as to not offend his manliness. Her father always said his towels had be manly. She had no idea what that really meant, but she guessed it meant things like "not pink" and "not smelling of flowers."

She reset and redid the tile with a few flicks of her wand, realising that his wall and floors were actually once quite beautiful, with startling blue mosaic seas and shimmering beaches. Having found the neglected clawed tub, she polished it up, and gave him a shower shelf to put all his soap and whatever odds and ends wherever he liked them.

Finally, she turned the extra crates into fluffy rugs so his feet wouldn't be cold when they hit the tile, only to have Mrs Norris roll on her back in the middle of it and meow ecstatically.

The back of the main room was still stacked with even boxes, and Hermione wondered if they'd just thrown Filch into an old storage room, or rather, that they'd thrown him in a someone's old quarters that they'd since been using as a store room. The crates were all empty, which made her think someone didn't want to waste the crates— but didn't bother about making them useful in other ways.

She turned a few into lanterns and hanging lanterns to brighten up the room a little better, and used the bigger crates to make new shelves, a few coat racks, an armoire, a chest of drawers, a bedside table, and a tiny almost-kitchen for making and storing any snacks he happened to desire.

"I hope I got the chilling charm right on the icebox," Hermione said. She opened it up and stuck her hand in it. "I think it works." She looked at Filch sheepishly. "I hadn't practiced that one much, sorry."

She stood in front of the little kitchen, waving her want to try and decide if the copper cookware was better or if cast iron was more appropriate. Mrs Norris jumped into the colander, filling it up, just her tail sticking out the edge.

By the time she had decided on cast-iron pans, copper pots, and wooden utensils, Filch had moved his once hidden belongings out into his quarters. He looked around with a kind of awe— the sort of thing you saw on first years that were crossing the lake for the first time.

"I have another room?" Filch boggled. "Well, I'll be."

"I think that one's supposed to be your bedroom," Hermione said, scratching her head. "Want me to move your bed and armoire there?"

"If it wouldn't too much trouble after all you've done already."

"I don't mind," Hermione said with a smile, shrinking the bed and armoire down and moving it over to the actual bedroom. She arranged the bed in the middle with the armoire and table to the side, putting lanterns on the tables.

Filch looked out the window of his new bedroom with awe, seeing the beautiful view out over the lake. He closed his eyes and sniffed and smiled.

"Thank you," he said. No one has done anything like this for me before." he said.

Hermione frowned. "That's terrible. You live here too. You should be able to enjoy the place you live in."

Mrs Norris was busily cheek-marking every possible thing in the quarters from top to bottom.

Filch laughed, scooping her up, and she squirmed, bound and determined to continue her personal quest to mark everything as "hers". Right meow, thank you very much.

"None of this is alive," Hermione said almost shyly, "So you don't have to worry about it all turning back into crates if something were to happen to me." Hermione smiled at her handiwork. "I really hope you like it, sir."

"Miss, I have no words for how happy this makes me."

"Hermione," she said.

"Miss Hermione," he said with a small tug of a smile— something utterly foreign to her and yet strangely wonderful. He chuckled. "Why did you make my things so much more wonderful, but you left yourself only a cot?"

Hermione shrugged. "I figured you could fold the cot up later and stuff it away somewhere."

Argus sniffed. "Make yourself something comfortable, Miss Hermione. You can always make it back into a cot in the morning."

Hermione smiled. "Okay."

As Hermione adjusted the privacy screens around her bed, she changed into her night clothes and curled up on the bed, happy to have a place to sleep, even if it was temporary. She was so tired from her adventure in helping Argus and Mrs Norris that she didn't even notice the purring warmth as Crookshanks wriggled his way underneath her arm, and the pale, monstrous arms of the Dementor wrapped around her and cuddled her close.

* * *

Hermione knew that Professor McGonagall's attempt to force the issue of getting her back into her assigned dorm didn't go well when she found her school trunk lying smashed— outside and in the rain. Apparently, someone had decided to chuck it straight out the window on onto the flagstones below She gathered up her broken and wet things, stuffing them back into her hastily repaired trunk, and walked blindly out into the rain. Hot tears flowed down her face, but she refused to wipe them away. Anger flowed through her veins, but she forced it back down as best she could.

She had no idea where she was going until a large branch smashed down in front of her, just missing her, save for a scratch on her cheek.

"I am  _ **not**_  in the mood for your whomping today!" Hermione cried out, her face wet with both rain and tears. "I don't know what it is that keeps you so brassed off with everyone, but you'd make many more friends if you'd stop being a total  _ **ARSE!**_ "

The Whomping Willow immediately halted its assault and drooped, apparently chastened. One branch extended to lightly brush up against her scratched cheek.

"I'm sorry too," Hermione said softly. "I've had a pretty horrible night."

The willow gently scooped her up into its branches and deposited her up to a higher place where the branches split off into a curving U shape. There was a small hollow, just big enough for a person or two, well-hidden by a dense covering of leaves. It nudged her in.

"You want me to go inside?"

The willow nudged her again.

"But, my trunk—" Hermione protested.

The willow picked up her trunk and used it to nudge her in.

"Okay, okay!"

Hermione stepped into the dark hollow and used her wand to create some light.

Her eyes widened as she found herself inside an expansive chamber— the very heart of the willow. The floor of the chamber was lined with a soft, sweet-smelling moss and lichen, and the walls seemed comfortably warm, almost as though they were alive.

The willow placed her trunk next to a hollowed out bowl filled with a soft fibre-stuffed mattress of sorts. A soft glow came from above, and she looked up to see an owl-shaped vine with a glow-light suspended inside of it.

Water trickled down in one area, making a sink in one area and a shower bath next to it. There was a small study desk formed in living wood with a vine-woven chair next to it.

"For me?" Hermione squeaked.

The willow's branch nudged her closer to the bed and poked her trunk so it opened.

"Thank you," Hermione said, giving the branch a hug.

The willow caressed her cheek and withdrew its branch, closing the "door" to the hollow so she had her privacy.

Mrowl?

Crookshanks was already curled up next to her pillows, ready for bed.

"How… ?" Hermione closed her eyes. Maybe it was just better not to question.

As she prepared herself for bed, she realised her favourite brush was missing from her trunk, and she tried to stifle the need to either punch or throw something at someone.

_Shhhhk._

_Shhhhk._

A brush tenderly went through her hair, and she turned to see the Dementor gently using the brush on her hair. Her emotions got the better of her, and she wrapped her arms around her stalwart new friend, trying to calm her overflowing emotion.

As the Dementor brushed her hair, she slowly felt better, as if just the raw edge of her excess emotion was being pulled away. She felt sleepy, and she curled up on the bed, her eyes fluttering closed. Crookshanks snuggled in close, his soft purring lulling her to sleep as the arms of her Dementor friend enfolded her in slumber.

* * *

"Severus, have you seen Miss Granger?"

"Minerva, do I  _look_ like the resident finder of lost children? Isn't she old enough to know her way around the castle by now?"

Minerva glowered with obvious frustration. "Both she and her trunk are missing, Severus. I strongly suspect that the other children threw her things out of the tower."

Severus narrowed his eyes at his colleague. "You let your cubs exile one of their own from Gryffindor tower?"

"I did not  _ **LET**_  them, Severus!" Minerva hissed. "They seem to think she is evil, and they are frantic and fanatical about making sure she's not allowed to live with them anymore!"

Severus sneered, his lip curling in disgust. "And what asinine reason have they come up with to determine that Miss Granger is evil?"

"Apparently, she yelled at a Dementor while on the train to the castle."

Severus' body froze in place as his head turned to face Minerva's like a scene from  _The_   _Exorcist_. "What?"

"They tell me that when the Dementors arrived to check the train for Sirius Black, one of them was attracted to Harry, and she stepped in the way and yelled at the Dementor."

"Yelling at a Dementor just proves how stupid you are, Minerva."

"It listened to her and gave her a bar of chocolate to apologise."

"And you simply accept any ridiculous stories those little dunderheads pull out of their arses?"

"Remus Lupin was right there too and confirmed that is exactly what happened, Severus," Minerva said.

"Lupin is hardly a shining example of reliability."

"Severus, he is a teacher at this school, and he has the Headmaster's trust."

"Oh, and that was always so helpful in the past," Severus snarled.

"What do you mean by that, Severus?"

Severus' face turned red as he struggled to say something and found he could not. He growled and whirled, leaving Minerva in a swirl of black cloth. "Bother me if she doesn't show up for class. Only then will I believe there is an actual crisis. Until then, leave me the hell alone, Minerva."

* * *

As expected, Hermione arrived to Potions class looking well rested— but she was oddly silent and very withdrawn when it came to her fellow housemates. She didn't display her typical handwaving behaviour, nor did she bother to extend herself to sneakily help any of her housemates with their usual inept attempts at potion-making. She kept entirely to herself. She kept… strangely silent.

The seats around her were oddly vacant, and the tables had been moved back away from her, as if her fellow students were fearful that she was going to explode at a moment's notice. Severus scowled. He had seen the two boys ostracise her many times for many more stupid reasons, but a silent Hermione was disturbing— a sign he recognised very well. It was either a deep depression or a simmering anger that had deepened further than words could be said. Both things, he was all-too-familiar with.

Intimately familiar.

He saw her fingers work quickly over the various reagents with deft skill. He watched her staring into her cauldron with dark, dark eyes. Her silver blade flashed like quicksilver. Her eyes flicked from her ingredients and the cauldron, all distractions she had once harboured gone. He saw the wisp of concentrated magic in her hands— her wand forgotten on the desk beside her. She flicked the next ingredient in, her eyes never leaving the surface of the cauldron. Her nostrils flared, and a turn of the stirrer went clockwise only a fraction to then go anti-clockwise half a turn and a fraction more, stopping as if marked by something only she could see. She watched it— her lips pressing together in a flat line, her body still, oh so still.

Suddenly, something was dropping into her cauldron—

Severus quickly slammed a stasis down on the potion just in time to see Hermione's fingers snap around a small piece of dried skin— toadskin.

Snape saw the smoldering magic crackling in her hair. Her hair was eerily raising as her hand trembled.

"Miss Granger," he said, soft as a whisper. "Please hand me that."

The softness of his tone reached her, and she automatically handed over the piece of skin into his hand— still silent. Deathly silent.

He ran his wand over it—

It wasn't toadskin at all. It was fire gecko skin— and it would have blown the classroom to bits had it hit Granger's potion in the state it was in. He ran a quick trace over it and hissed with anger.

"I will give you precisely five seconds to tell me who threw that fire gecko skin into Miss Granger's cauldron. Any more time than that, and the lot of you will be in detention for the next week with Mr Filch doing anything and everything he so desires without any complaint and entirely without magic. Starting  _ **NOW."**_

Neville pushed Lavender up. "Tell him what you did, Lavender. I'm not going to detention for you."

" _ **What?!"**_  Lavender screeched. "How  _ **dare**_ you!"

"I saw her do it too," Harry added, earning him a vicious stomp from Ron's shoe. Harry squared his jaw.

"She's a Dementor-loving  _ **FREAK!"**_  Parvati cried.

Perhaps, in the heat of the moment, the students of Severus Snape forgot what class they were in, exactly who their teacher was, or all the dark rumours of what  _he_  was that had been speculated about in hushed whispers throughout the years. Snape stood up ramrod straight, his black robes swirling behind him eerily like a Dementor's robes as his pale fingers seemed to stretch across his chest to pull his robes across his chest. He was directly in front of Lavender and Parvati in an abrupt flash of movement, his lips twisting in disgust and his black eyes filled with a barely suppressed fury. His fingers extended to her throat, making the shadow of a strangling motion without even touching her.

The room was deathly quiet. Wide eyes staring at Snape like he had suddenly transformed into the Mayan Bat God of Death.

"Detention with  _ **me**_ tonight, Miss Brown, Miss Patil," Snape bit out harshly as though each word was utterly agonising. For now, you will immediately march yourselves directly to the Headmaster's office, where he and your Head of House will be waiting to discuss your shameful behaviour regarding your fellow Gryffindors." He leaned in, his teeth bared in a snarl. "And the circumstances that lead to you throwing Miss Granger's trunk out a window in Gryffindor Tower."

"But I didn—"

Snape had her wrist in his hand, his pale fingers holding her wrist like a trap. "Tell me, do you  _always_ bear the trademark of a very angry half-Kneazle, or are you just so very blessed today?" He plucked the bit of distinctive orange fur from the sleeve of her robe.

Lavender swallowed hard, trembling violently.

"Get out of here.  _Now_ _ **."**_

Lavender and Parvati quickly exited the room as though Snape we re the Dementor they feared.

"For those of you who wish to remain—  _alive_ — had that piece of fire gecko skin landed in your classmate's cauldron, it would have taken out this entire room and everyone in it, given the point Miss Granger was at in her brewing— the moment of synthesis, when the potion has reached the highest potency and is ready to amplify the next ingredient throughout the mixture. It would have caused a massive, violent explosion, and those lucky enough to survive the initial blast would then quickly succumb to the highly unpleasant effects of a lethal, invisible gas. So, the next time you think throwing some random thing into a fellow student's cauldron is a great idea,  _don't_."

"Now, complete your brewing, and place your finished potions on my desk before you leave. If you should finish early, you may leave… silently. If I hear even a single whisper, you will be joining your fellows in detention."

Snape didn't say one more word as he paced around the room. The students, for once, brewed in total silence. Some of them botched it just as he expected they would, but others seemed to get a little more focused and put out a passable (even if it was still poor quality) potion.

Hermione's potion, however— was perfect. Flawless

She had picked the hardest potion on the board— the potion he hadn't expected any of them to actually do: Liquid Luck.

A tiny golden fish leapt in and of the potion on a wisp of magic.

His lip twitched. Apparently when she wasn't babysitting her peers, she was a natural born potioneer.

She decanted her cauldron into about— he had to chuckle— thirty some crystal vials. It was Liquid Luck, for Merlin's sake… you didn't just vanish  _that_. There was enough Liquid Luck there to ensure that Longbottom didn't blow anything else up for the rest of term… if he took it every single day, a drop every hour. Hell, there still may be enough left to— Merlin, she was up to  _fifty_ crystal vials now.

She looked into her cauldron mournfully. There was still some left, but she had run out of vials. Snape found himself standing in front of her, scowling. He put a parchment down in front of her and a large crystal flask. Silently, he quilled his signature as the cosigner, verifying the authenticity, potency, and craft of the potion to be sold to Slug and Jiggers for a 90/10 split fee for one flask full of Felix Felicis, with enough Liquid Luck to be split into approximately a hundred vials. They would make a killing on it, even only getting 10 percent of the sale money from it. Hermione would be set for her entire Hogwarts career and probably beyond that. Especially if she could make more of it— and he had no doubt she would.

"Sign right here, Miss Granger. Vault here. Decanter here."

He swirled and left, leaving the Granger girl standing there with wide eyes.

As the class ended, she brought the full flask, fifty some vials, and the parchment to his desk and went back to her desk to clean up. He opened the scroll and read. His eyes widened as he saw where she had written it to split the commission between both signers' vaults: hers and… his.

It was something an apprentice would do, acknowledging the guiding hand of the master in their work, regardless of how independently they may have worked on a project. It was the kind of respect he had not expected from one of his students, most especially a Gryffindor student.

Snape opened a drawer, pulled out a parchment, and scrawled over it with a hurried pen-hand and pulled out his wax. He heated the wax with a candle, poured it on the parchment and slammed his signet ring into it. Maybe, he thought to himself, there was a possible solution to Minerva's little— problem.

As the rest of the class had fled into the wind, not daring stay any longer to tempt Snape's wrath, Hermione was just finishing cleaning up and putting her books into her bags. Her potions book—

She had started to write in her potions book. Notes penned in the borders and any free space covered the pages. She closed the book and tucked it away.

"Miss Granger."

"Yes, Sir?"

"Your scroll."

Hermione blinked, but she approached and took the scroll. "Thank you, Sir," she said, nodding to him.

When Hermione had left the classroom, she opened the scroll and almost dropped it.

* * *

_I, Severus Tobias Snape, do take Hermione Jean Granger as my apprentice on this third day of September in the year of nineteen ninety-three. From the time both my and her seals adorn this parchment, our bond shall be sealed until the time when she is pinned as her own master._

_At this point, she shall report to me and only to me for the length of her education in all subjects, as well as in mastery of potions. She will be provided any and all learning materials, private quarters adjoined to my own, apprentice robes and pin, dragonhide boots, and a monetary stipend. All other necessary items will be addressed as they come to light._

_Master of Potions, Severus Tobias Snape_

(his seal, the Hebridean dragon rampant)

* * *

Hermione watched the smug Slytherin smiles grow as she took her seat beside her master at the High Table. She watched him take his first bite before eating, and she quietly dove into her salad without looking like Ronald Weasley with a bowl of chicken wings.

Gryffindor looked utterly horrified at her blacker than black robes of thick wool, dragonhide boots, and the green and silver lining of her robes. She wore the apprentice sash around her waist. Her wand was tucked in a holster on her arm rather than in a pocket. Her hair was pulled back with a headband that looked like a serpent, both to tame the frizz and keep her hair safely out of any potion she might be working on. The magical headband wove around her hair just enough to pull it back like a braid and look terribly stylish. Even Crookshanks was wearing a black, emerald studded collar with a silver bell on it that eerily didn't ring unless he wanted it too.

Crooks ate from his very own dish at the high table, showing far better manners than Ronald, which wasn't too hard to see, and Hagrid, who really wasn't much better than Ron.

Gryffindor seemed to be glaring at her even more lately— most especially Lavender and Parvati, who had been separated into different dorm rooms after being thoroughly reamed by the Headmaster, their Head of House, and their equally furious parents. Both had served time in the dungeon pulling wings off a magical species of African dung beetle that gave off the distinctive scent of, well, dung when plucked.

To make things even worse, the repulsive odour clung to their robes, skin and hair no matter  _how_ thoroughly or often they bathed.

No amount of blaming the Dementors seemed to help their case due to the fact that they were there to apprehend Sirius Black, the notorious mass murderer and criminal escapee.

"Apprentice," Snape's voice said, soft and almost a whisper.

"Yes, Master?"

"Please deliver this scroll to Aberforth at the Hogshead Tavern in Hogsmeade," he directed.

"Yes, Master," she said, taking the scroll in one hand as she excused herself from dinner. She swept the room, walking up the Hufflepuff side of the room. They all quickly turned and stared at their drinks as she passed by.

"Merlin, Severus, it's bad enough that  _you_ do that everytime you enter and exit the Great Hall," Pomona complained.

"The apprentice learns from the master," Severus deadpanned, continuing to eat his steak.

"She's only in her third year, Severus, what is she going to be like when she's in her seventh?"

Severus had a rather wicked smile on his face. "Rightfully intimidating."

"Gods help us all," Sinestra said, sipping her tea.

* * *

Hermione wondered if her master knew she was feeling discomfited by all the glares and stares and sent her on her errand so she could get some much-needed fresh air and a nice walk in the coolness of the evening after spending all day brewing with him in the dungeons. Her hair had become disturbingly straight after exposure to potion fumes all day, so much so that she wondered if the cure to bushy hair was brewing.

As she came to the gates of Hogwarts, the Dementors met her there, and she smiled as they seemed to bicker amongst each other for the honour of whisking her away to Hogsmeade. Finally, the more sombre one opened up his arms, and she embraced him, allowing his arms to pull her close as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He floated off towards Hogsmeade as the other Dementors seemed to float around in a pout.

When she got to the Hogshead Tavern, the air inside was nauseatingly thick with smoke and beer, but she found old Aberforth easily enough. She handed him the scroll, ignoring all the looks she was getting.

One of them stood up, looking like he was going to cause trouble when his companion grabbed him by the wrist and jerked his head.

"That's  _Snape's_  apprentice, you sodding idiot" he hissed lowly. "You leave that one well alone."

Aberforth read the missive and nodded sharply. "I have some of that right here, just give me a—" he reached up and pulled a glass bottle down from the shelf. A golden brown liquid swirled lazily within, seeming more like fire instead of fluid. "This is the good stuff for potions," he said. "Not like the drinking kind. This will burn right through your skin if you're not careful. He's paid up in advance, so don't worry none about the tab, aye?"

Hermione nodded respectfully, silent.

"You're a quiet one, eh? I suppose I expected no less from Snape's apprentice. You be safe on the way back to the school, lass."

Hermione nodded and saluted him with the bottle. She carried it out and took an extra long inhale of the much cleaner night air. Aberforth smelled like week-old chip grease and stale beer, most of the times she'd fetched things from him, but he was respectful enough. She had learned to say very little with Snape's contacts— partly because he told her to, and partly because she knew if he asked her to, there had to be a really good reason  _why_.

The Dementor hovered at the edge of town, waiting for her. His presence frosted the bottle she was carrying, and she stared at it curiously. Odd that she didn't  _feel_ the cold when it obviously affected the environment. She put it in her carrysack, and wrapped her arms around the Dementor, allowing him to embrace her and fly her back home. She seemed to think they enjoyed the little break from the monotony as much as she did.

By the time they got home, Hermione was yawning, and much to her surprise, the Dementor didn't stay at the border and instead took her to the actual entrance to the school.

"Thank you," she said, giving him an extra hug. The Dementor brushed the side of her cheek with one finger before floating off to join his brethren.

Hermione walked back to her master's quarters, silently gave him the flask of brewing whisky, and waited.

Snape continued to grade his parchments like she wasn't there for a few minutes before picking up the bottle and examining the contents. "Thank you." He scribbled something out on a parchment and handed it to her. "You may spend tomorrow with whatever wild ideas you come a cross and we will discuss them in the evening after dinner.

Confused, Hermione looked at the parchment. Her eyes went wide. "A day-pass to the entire library! Thank you, Master!" she babbled, genuinely excited.

"Go, rest," he said, shooing her with his hand. "The annoying castle has seemed fit to connect that door to your 'other' room."

Hermione shuffled over to the door he gestured to and her face lit up with joy as she realised it went into her hollow inside the Whomping Willow. She rushed in as the door closed behind her, and the sounds of splashing and bathing came soon after.

Snape sniffed, finishing the rest of his grading, but a small tug of a smile graced his expression, both sly and subtle like the Slytherin he was.

* * *

Hermione found herself surrounded in books— both the normal kind and the kind that wanted to eat people's faces. Oddly enough,  _The_   _Monstrous Books of Monsters_  had taken a shine to her, and all the "discarded" books that no one wanted to deal with were all cuddling with her, begging for pets on the cover and the ultra-coveted spine caress.

She sat with her study books, paging through them silently, soaking in as much as she could about Dark creatures such as Dementors, quirky foliage like the Whomping Willow, and the  _Beasts Moste Dark and Evil_  from the restricted section.

"This is a horrible drawing," Hermione said, looking up to see one of the Dementors floating nearby. She pointed at it, shaking her head. The Dementor peered at it and seemed to shrug.

"But look at this—" she said pointing to the open book of  _Ancient Potions of the Dark and Dangerous._  "I remember when my master said at the start of first year that you could put a stopper in death. Well maybe it's not about stopping death but preventing unnatural death. I mean… I'm pretty sure if Death really wanted you, he'd find you, right? But what if this is like good medicine? Staving off unnatural death until you could be treated normally?"

The Dementor floated silently and then took a seat next to her at the table as she explained all the complex thoughts going through her head.

"Well, do you think it might work? If you held the cauldron for me it would have the "touch of the Dementor's cold" right? Then I could make the potion like I normally would. I mean, if you wanted to. I wouldn't force you or anything."

The Dementor shrugged, seemingly agreeable.

"You're the  _best!_ " Hermione said, giving the Dementor a hug and placing a kiss on his cheek.

She rapidly wrote down every detail and reference before putting all the books she had borrowed away. "I should probably get those ingredients from Professor Sprout." She heaved her bookbag over her shoulder. "Coming?"

Every copy of  _The Monstrous Books of Monsters_ jumped off the desk and followed her, bouncing along behind her like a line of book-shaped ducklings— with teeth and fur and tentacles, okay, well, monstrous ducklings at that.

When Hermione returned to Snape's last class, a row of  _Monstrous Books of Monsters_ all bouncing along behind her, each with bundles of flowers and ingredients from Pomona's greenhouse grasped in their toothy pages, Snape raised an eyebrow.

They all waited patiently for her to pick them up and remove the bundles, placing them on his desk before giving each one a caress on the spine and setting them back down. He eyed Hermione oddly when she put a vase of beautiful black roses on his desk. "Professor Sprout sends her thanks for pruning her Venomous Tentaculas for her, Master," she said.

Snape eyed the one book that was chewing on a writhing Tentacula tentacle— still.

"Check the potions, Apprentice," he said curtly, watching her expression go from hopeful to dutiful.

"Yes, Master," she said, moving up and down the aisles of the first years with her hands clasped behind her back. He watched her without looking like he was, seeing how she channelled that old talent to correct her peers into something she was supposed to do. She vanished potions that were horribly wrong, telling them exactly what they had botched and why it was unsalvageable, and then she had them start anew, asking them if they had any questions.

When those same students gave her lip, thinking she was no teacher, he stood behind her, glowering as he detailed exactly what they had missed in horrid detail and without a lick of her tact and then tore into them about the little things she forgave them but  _he_ would not— not when they were going to give cheek to his apprentice.

Chastised and terrified, they set to work.

The Slytherin students knew better than to say or do anything against her, now. Now she was a Slytherin too. She was Snape's apprentice, and she was under his protection. It was under his right to mete out justice in regards to her honour as he saw fit— and none of them  _ever_ wanted to be under his scrutiny the way Hermione was. They knew he tracked her every move in a way that made hovering parents seem like slackers. They knew that he kept her to a standard that none of them were willing to try for—

And yet, she did do all of those things.

Slytherin had heard all the horror stories from Draco Malfoy, after all, on exactly what was expected of anyone with his name attached to it.

But these first-years were not Slytherin; they were Ravenclaws who thought they knew better and Hufflepuff who believed hard work would be rewarded even if that work was wrong. That was not how Severus ran his class, and they would learn that even if they never learned anything else.

But— something had changed in Hermione Granger. She had become something very different from the hand-waving and obnoxiously outspoken Gryffindor that had once been the bane of his classroom. Could it be as simple as losing the friends that she thought she'd had? Or was it that the test of their true friendship had shown her that they weren't more than fair weather friends?

Apparently, if the rumours were true and if Lupin was anything of a truthful historian, Hermione Granger had scolded a Dementor and it had… actually apologised.

That would make the Dark Lord roll over in his ever-unquiet grave and the in-between half-life that he had apparently crafted for himself. Severus absently rubbed his left arm under his robes. Supposedly, only wizards and witches back in the time of Merlin could communicate with the  _Beasts_   _Moste Dangerous_ — well, Merlin and the Founders, but the Founders had focused primarily on one beast or family of beasts. Rowena had an affinity for eagles, Salazar the snakes (allegedly other reptiles too, including dragons), Godric the lions (for all the good it did him in Europe), and Helga the badger.

But just because it was in Hogwarts: A History, did not make it true— and Severus was admittedly doubtful.

Yet, his apprentice had undergone some sort of personal revelation and transformation— if the trail of monstrous books following her around like ducklings counted for anything, or the Whomping Willow adopting her and giving her a room of her own, or Hogwarts catering to her will in various strange ways.

She seemed quite unaware of how unusual it was, and he knew she hadn't been dabbling in some odd magic to control her world. It wasn't like her to be power-seeking in such a way, and even if she had done something on purpose, why would she then be so upset that the people around her didn't seem to think it was great?

One thing was for certain, he knew she had to be assiduously protected and nurtured in her talents to become someone who didn't skirt around Dark magic like some kind of peace and light hippie. He saw in her brewing the Felix Felicis potion that she had found that uniquely dangerous focus that he had when brewing—a focus he had attained when all his impotent anger and hatred had channelled itself into his learning.

Lily had had that talent too, but only when she was scarily angry. Her grades had never been as good as when she was thoroughly brassed off. The month after she had told him to go get bent, she had been top of the school. No one could touch her then, not even him.

Mind you, his heart had been broken back then, moaning like a mortally wounded, dying animal in his chest as it pleaded for him to make things right. Not that there was anything he could have done. She had made that crystal clear.

Once he realised that, his anger had come roaring back. His grades had soared again— and she hated him more for that too. But then she had fallen in with Potter and become obviously giddy with her newfound happiness. Her grades quickly became passable as her growing fascination with James Potter had made her lose her focus on academics in favour of the soppy romantic drivel the likes of which could be found within the pages of  _Witch Weekly_. It had been quite a disgusting transformation.

Hate was an exceedingly fickle beast, he knew. It could empower you or destroy you. You were either so preoccupied by it that you couldn't see the Bludger coming for your head, or you learned how to harness it to give yourself an unshakable focus. There was the middle ground, of course, but those in the middle tended to be run over by one side or the other— trading hate for some other emotion or being blinded by it and getting bowled over by a rogue Bludger of reality.

Lucius was of those people perpetually stuck in the middle, treading the line between focused hate and confused or learned hate. Learned hate was chaotic, capable of being powerful or all-consuming. His hatred for Muggles, for example, blinded him to what his own actions were doing. If he was so blinded that he took his wand to Snape's apprentice however—

Severus would have to duel him. It would not be— pretty.

Lucius hadn't inducted Severus into the graces of the Dark Lord solely on his hate for many of the same things, back in the day. No, Lucius had had his face handed to him in a duel when Lucius had backed Severus into a corner, and Severus had exploded with the kind of magic he had not been able to use at Hogwarts. He had totally plastered the blond wizard up against a stone wall in Knockturn Alley and made him  _bleed_ , and Severus had simply watched— cold wrath incarnate and utterly lacking in conscience. That was when the courting had begun— the Dark Lord luring him in with whispers of greater power and revenge against those who had made him so— angry.

And he, the idiot, had fallen for it. Blinded by his hatred, he had set himself up to become the one who would learn just how far you could fall from where his hate had built him up. And he had fallen alright, fallen into slavery to two masters, both just as twisted in their own way.

There was also the possibility that Lucius would recognise just how wrong he was about powerful magic being solely a pureblood trait. Or— he would realise that her being in Slytherin now banished many of the reasons he had to pre-emptively despise her on top of the blood issue.

As Hermione finished her circuit around the classroom, she quietly returned to his desk, and he inclined his head to her slightly, informing her of his approval. She brightened a bit, despite her lack of a smile. He could feel her magic flare slightly at his approval.

Was it truly as simple as that to change the annoying hand-waver into a a silent, content apprentice?

All she wanted was a small sign of approval, and she was willing to even silence herself and stifle her questions for when they met in the quiet time after classes away from prying eyes.

Snape closed his eyes. If that was all the girl needed to maintain focus, then he would adjust to ensure she got it.

"I will see you for dinner in the Great Hall," he said. "You may do as you please until then."

Again the flash of happiness from her. "Thank you, Master," she said, leaving the room as the trail of monstrous books dutifully followed after her.

He raised an eyebrow as a few strapped books struggled to be free of their bindings and follow her only to have a few students step on them to keep them from doing so. The trapped books made a soft sad, wheeze and a small whimpering noise.

"Mr Cutter," Snape droned. " _Why_  do you have a book that was not on the list for first-years?"

The student with his foot on the book swallowed hard. "The, uh… third-years were just giving them away last period after Draco Malfoy got kicked in the head by a hippogriff."

Snape's lip twitched.  _Idiot boy._

* * *

"And what has your field day in the library given you?" Snape asked, his eyes flicking rapidly over her stack of parchments. Details, drawings, concept maps, notes upon notes upon notes, and—

Dementors?

"Apprentice."

"Yes, Master?"

"Please explain the hypothesis on brewing under the influence of Dementors."

Hermione tilted her head. "Well, this one book said that in order to make a proper protective potion against wounds that might be immediately fatal that you needed to harness the energy contained within "a Dementor's cold". During your speech in my first year said that you could put a stopper in death, and I was thinking that, the potion was more than just possible if you brewed it in the cauldron while in the company of a Dementor, since their presence seems to make the air cold just by being there."

Snape's eyebrow was threatening to launch out of his hair into space.

"So, I was thinking that, if I brewed a few potions with a Dementor's cold, I could find out how it affects the potion and possibly make a working Stoppering Potion with the results," Hermione continued after taking a long breath. "I mean, it may not actually stop death, but it may provide an extra few seconds to get that person the treatment they need or get them to safety or—"

"Apprentice Granger!"

Hermione stiffened. "Sorry, Sir."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

Hermione frowned, going through her mental checklist. "I— I don't think so."

"Dementors are Dark creatures that do not exactly volunteer to stand around and babysit your cauldrons as you brew potions," Snape said. "How exactly would you get one to willingly assist you in such an endeavor?"

Hermione blinked. "Well, I'd ask politely, of course."

"You'd— ask."

"Nicely."

Snape practically stared a hole into her skull. "Okay, say that I believe that would work. "Do you think you could show me what you intend to do— and brew me a cauldron of Dittany with this method?"

"Right now, Master?"

Snape nodded.

Hermione hopped up from her chair and pulled out her brewing set and then went over to the shelves where all the ingredients were. She moved down the rows, picking out the required packets of reagents as she went and brought them back to her table. She laid out her cauldron, stirring rod, book stand, recipe—

She frowned down at the ingredient list. She went back over the shelves, picked out a few more packets, and came back to her seat. She steepled her fingers and stared at the recipe, her eyes flicking up and then back down to the writing. She closed her eyes, stilled her breathing, and time seemed to stop.

The air became very cold— colder than cold— as hoarfrost spread throughout the room, covering the tables, chairs, and floor. Snape's breath seemed to freeze in the very air and crash to the ground as the moisture he breathed out froze and clattered to his desk.

The dark shapes of Dementors floated in the air in the classroom.

"I hope I didn't bother you!" Hermione said, a smile on her face.

The Dementors floated closer, looking like it was going to suck out her soul—

Snape was going to do something just before Hermione leapt up and wrapped her arms around the floating creature, and its twisted, elongated fingers wrapped around her head as it pulled her close.

"Do you remember the experiment I wanted to do?"

The Dementor seemed to nod as the others approached closer. Hermione showed them the book. "This is the recipe." She pointed to the page. "Do you mind helping me?"

The Dementors brushed against her as the first one let her wriggle out of its embrace. Another extended a delicate flower, perfectly frozen within the hoarfrost.

"Oh! It's so beautiful! Thank you!" Hermione said happily. She stroked the flower and put it in a cup, tapping it so it would become a vase. She embraced the Dementor's waist, and it wrapped her up in its arms.

The third Dementor seemed to sulk in mid-air, having nothing in which to give.

Hermione, however, took its bone-like hands and held them. "Thank you for coming," she said.

The Dementor suddenly seemed to think of something, and it pulled a shawl out from its tattered robes and placed it around her shoulders. It seemed to be made of hoarfrost, but when it lay on shoulders it turned to a soft, green fabric.

Hermione's face burst into a grin, and she hugged it too. The Dementor rasped, its intake of air like the loss of air in a hose.

Hermione sat down at the table. "Um, I guess if you could hold the cauldron from the other side?" she suggested. "Would you like a seat?"

The Dementors all pulled seats over on the opposite side and sat down as if they were all having a spot of tea and conversation.

The twisted, elongated fingers wrapped around the cauldron, turning its entire surface to unearthly frosted cold that wisps of cold rose from the surface in an aura of deadly bitter frigidity.

Hermione's expression went all serious as she started to brew, exchanging the heat of typical brewing with the iciness of her companions' auras. To compensate for the lack of heat, she added a pinch of firedrake spittle into the water and waited for its effect to sink in but the actual reagent to boil off.

One by one she added the ingredients, but again she didn't look at the recipe after having already looked it over before she started. Her hands hesitated as her head moved back and forth as she listened, stared, and waited. She added each ingredient, stirred, waited, stirred again.

At one point, she looked concerned, unsure as to which way to stir— the expectation apparently not what she wanted.

Shaking off his stunned mind, he looked inside the cauldron. His hand gently took hers, guiding it. "Feel the potion as it moves around your rod. When you feel this, you must go the opposite way. Then—" he moved it to the next spot. "When you feel this, the other way. You can correct as many times are you require until it feels right, provided you did not add anything while still in the corrective state."

Hermione's expression brightened, and she did exactly as he directed, adjusting here, there, and again until the potion smoothed out. Then and only then she added the next bit of ingredients. He stood over her, watching, but unlike other students who found his presence utterly unnerving, she seemed more at ease. As the potion waited for the last addition, Hermione squared her shoulders. "This is it, everyone. Could you all breathe into my potion, please?"

The Dementors leaned in and breathed as one into the cauldron. The potion flickered from brown to blue to blue-white to a radiant white. A icefish jumped from the potion in a burst of icy magic. The resulting potion pulsed with an unearthly cold.

Hermione, who opened one eye to peek at the potion, smiled. "Did it work, Master?"

Severus, who was still staring at the surface of the potion that looked a lot like liquid ice— its glowing surface like shimmering crystal— blinked. "I believe I have the perfect idiot to test it on."

* * *

Hermione had accidentally made a bit more of this icy Dittany than she had the Liquid Luck, and Severus realised he'd have to order many more boxes of phials, vials, flasks, and— everything if Hermione was going to keep at what she was doing at a breakneck pace.

Hermione hugged all of her "friends" goodnight, and they all floated off without any sign of being bothered.

It was unnerving how compassionate she was— how readily she gave her touch to the Dementors, and how readily they accepted her touch in return. She didn't shudder or question when they took her into their embrace. She displayed none of the fear a normal, arguably sane, person would when faced with a XXXXX Dark creature—

Severus had to admit a slight shudder when the Dementor caressed the girls' cheek, much as a lover would— the gesture of affection seeming so alien from a Dementor. He boggled at the depth of her compassion and how easily she bestowed it. What he wouldn't have done for something as pure as that in his school years.

As he dipped the extra-tiny pipette into the crystalline phial, he gave Draco a look that clearly said "move so much as a muscle and I make you drink this, and trust me it will be far, far worse."

Draco, well accustomed to that warning glare, froze like a statue, his eyes watching the drop that was coming towards his injured head. The droplet hit the nasty gash on his head where Buckbeak had swiftly addressed Draco's rudeness in kind. A wisp of greenish vapour came off the wound, and the tissue and skin pulled back together, knitting itself neatly like a zipper closing.

There wasn't even a scar.

Snape's lip twitched.

A speechless Draco was tentatively touching his forehead with his fingers as he looked in the mirror, obviously trying to verify he that wasn't hallucinating. "Thank you, Severus!" he gushed.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Do not thank  _me_ , Draco. Thank the one who made it."

Draco's eyes went comically wide. His mouth worked up and down, looking very much like a duck.

"Do close your mouth, Draco. You'll attract flies," Severus said, with eyes as black as space.

Draco stared at Hermione and then squared his shoulders. "Thank you, Apprentice Gr— Hermione."

Hermione nodded. "You're welcome— Draco."

Snape turned to leave, gently pushing his Apprentice along before something was said that might prove embarrassingly emotional.

"Hermione—"

Hermione turned.

"If there is ever anything I can do to— repay you for your kindness. I know I haven't exactly given you any reason to like me—" he trailed off, looking rather awkward.

Hermione furrowed her brows for a moment. "Don't blame the hippogriff," she said quietly.

Draco was silent for some time. "I'll tell my father it wasn't what people made out. Not having a scar will help."

Hermione smiled at him. "Thank you."

Draco rubbed his head. "No, thank  _you_." He lay back in the bed and attempted to go back to sleep.

Snape nudged Hermione in front of him as they both left the infirmary.

* * *

Severus realised that when Albus had said the Dementors were not coming on school grounds to look for Sirius Black that maybe, just maybe, there was a loophole that said nothing about Dementors coming on school grounds to keep Hermione company. Or—

Snape twitched.

Maybe they were like familiars that defied all conventional rules.

Dementors? Familiars? Impossible— right?

Was it any less impossible than Dementors as— friends?

The hoarfrost flower sat in the vase on the table nearby, a testament to the fact that there was far more going on than he could explain easily.

Dementors were supposedly the foulest Dark creature in the world, a creature that fed on human happiness leaving their victims with nothing but depression and despair. They sucked out your soul, leaving behind an vacant shell where no one was home.

Well, that was how it was supposed to be, if you talked to the Ministry, anyway.

Hermione had fallen asleep on her homework, and one of the Dementors was carrying her off to bed. He followed to the door in time to see the Dementors dressing her for bed, laying her under the covers and pulling the duvet over her, lifting her arm for Crookshanks to settle in, and then the Dementors made a series of hand gestures to decide who was "winning" before one floated in beside her and lay behind her, wrapping one arm around her.

Hermione murmured her in sleep just before turning around and snuggling into the Dementor's body. Crooks wriggled back in between, and the door creaked closed, blocking Snape's sight.

Snape poured himself a strong shot of firewhisky, drank it down in one go, and put himself to bed.

There were just some things that he wasn't ready to think too hard on just yet, and his Apprentice being tucked into bed by Dementors was high on the list of "not now, please."

* * *

"Severus."

"Madam."

"Oh, don't you 'Madam' me, Severus Snape," Poppy Pomfrey admonished as she waved him over.

Snape raised an eyebrow and walked over, his expression seemingly one of pained tolerance.

"I have a student here with severe cranial injuries, Severus," she explained. "Cranial injuries— brain swelling, brain damage if it goes on much longer, and we can't transfer him to a Muggle facility because his parents signed that stupid parchment that they'd rather let him die than be treated by Muggles."

"Excuse me?" Snape's eyes widened. Most people, Lucius included, would do anything to save their child, even if it meant Muggle "science". He'd, of course, Obliviate anyone who couldn't keep their mouth shut, but he'd do it. "You have to be—"

"I'm not, Severus," Poppy said grimly, her body slumping. "The only thing saving him right now is that crack on his head is letting the fluid in his brain leak out, but that's obviously not a normal thing. Any spells to close the wound will make things worse, and he can't even drink a potion without painting my far wall with it shortly after. The nature of the damage, I think, is making it hard to treat— impossible even. I've never approved of those bloody wavers," she said with a scowl.

Severus jumped at the cursing, having rarely if ever heard the mediwitch curse.

"I know you did something to help out Draco, Severus," Poppy said. "He wouldn't say anything, but I know my potions and even my Dittany wouldn't have healed him that fast, not that I could have used it since the Quidditch season has already drained my reserves down with people breaking themselves—"

Poppy wrung her hands next to her robes.

"Poppy we haven't tested the potion on anyone but Draco and a few of Hagrid's hippogriffs that tried to beat the shite out of each other over a female."

"You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't so dire, Severus," Poppy said.

Snape grit his teeth. "And what happens if I refuse?"

Poppy jerked her head angrily, but then she saw the look of intense concentration on Severus' face as he weighed the risks of failure to the risks of non-treatment.

"He'll likely have more cranial swelling and brain damage, Severus. If he even comes out of it— he'll never be right again."

Severus' fist clenched. "They would do this to a child?"

Poppy nodded. "There are times I hate that the parent has the final word when it comes to treatment, and because they do not deny him all treatment, I cannot overrule it. Even to save his life."

Severus glowered. "You will speak nothing of this," he cautioned.

"You know I won't, Severus," Poppy said.

"No, for this, I must have you swear it."

Poppy blinked. "Severus it's a potion—"

"It's not just a potion, Poppy. It's how it was created and who will be administering it."

Poppy, face wrinkled in confusion, nodded. "You have my word, Severus, on my magic. I will not reveal anything I might see here today."

Severus sent a Patronus zinging out the door as he drew all the curtains around the bed closed.

"Severus—"

Severus gave Poppy a cold stare.

It was past the witching hour as it was, and the infirmary was already mostly dark, but it was more than a little dark as creeping shadows started to rise around them. A brisk, unnatural cold seeped from the floor into the very air.

Poppy was starting to fidget, but Severus said nothing, his face a mask.

Snape knew he had left his Apprentice sleeping peacefully with her Dementors, and most likely when his Patronus reached her, she would be groggy and barely able to walk. He was betting that her friends would bring her— and she had no reason to think that was a bad thing.

The dark shapes of the Dementors rose from the floor— spectres of Darkness that had he not seen what they would do for Hermione, he'd never have believed. One of them held Hermione, cradled in his arms, still in her night clothes, and clinging to her sleep with stubborn tenacity.

The Dementor slowly set her down, and Hermione mumbled things, half asleep. She had one hand wrapped around the Dementor's finger as she rubbed her eyes and thumped her head against its waist.

"Apprentice," Severus addressed.

Hermione turned, groggily. "Master? Oh, it wasn't a dream."

She struggled to shake the sleep away. "Oh, Madam Pomfrey!" She bowed respectfully, slightly flustered by her being in her night clothes. "I'm so sorry, I—"

Severus came to her. "Apprentice, Madam Pomfrey would like us to use your potion on this boy here— who has no other hope but a potion he doesn't have to drink, and normal Dittany is not an option. I have informed her of the risks, but she is willing to risk it because his injury is dire. Will you assist?"

Hermione frowned, thinking. She looked at the boy in the bed— pale and sickly as if a malaise had taken him. The bandage on his head was seeping an off colour of almost-pinkish orange. Hermione sobered immediately, her sleepiness vanished as the direness of the situation hit her. "This is Oliver."

The Dementors whispered, hissing.

"No, he wasn't very nice to me either," Hermione answered, "but that's hardly the point. "He was just too preoccupied by Quidditch to pay me any mind. It wasn't like the others. Even if he did— I wouldn't want  _this_ for him."

Hermione squared her shoulders. "Could you hand me one of the phials, please?" she asked one of the Dementors.

The spectre pulled a small crystalline phial from its robes, handing it to her. The contents swirled a bright white-blue, dripping the coldness of the Dementor. The other Dementor handed her a tiny dropper.

"Thank you," Hermione said taking the dropper, and her hand rested on its elongated, skeletal fingers with thanks. She stared down at Oliver and frowned. She took the Dementor's hand. "Do you mind?"

She guided the hand to Oliver's head, allowing its coldness to chill his bandaged head. She unwrapped the bandages carefully, frowning as the pink-tinted fluid oozed from his head. "I will not assume this is the worst place," Hermione said. "Could you please guide where you need it, Madam Pomfrey?"

The Mediwitch, who had temporarily gone into a catatonic stupor of her own, shook it off in favour of helping her patient. "Here, child," she said. "This is the area, and his brain, underneath the skull."

Hermione looked to Severus, and he nodded to her, gently wrapping his hand around hers to help administer the drops. They guided the dropper together, dripping the potion into the wound. A wisp of green vapour rose up from his head as Oliver's head shimmered with a coat of hoarfrost, but when it melted away, the flesh and bone had knit together again, his skin pulling itself whole once more as the constant leak of fluid ceased. The pallor started to improve. His skin flushed with colour again as he took in a deep breath and then another.

Hermione placed her hands on the Dementors, and they withdrew, allowing the warmth to return to the bed. The little witch smiled up at them, and they hovered around her, each reaching out to caress her skin before floating out the window to mingle with their brethren on the borders of Hogwarts.

As Poppy ran her wand over Oliver, Hermione had reflexively grasped Snape's hand, pulling herself into his robes as she did the Dementor's. He looked at the boy fearfully— unsure if her potion was really what the boy needed to save him or if it was only meant to help lacerations such as Draco's tangle with the hippogriff. She was right to be nervous, scared even, and Snape tolerated the young witch's insecurity— even it meant physical contact, even it it meant she was clinging to— well, him of all people.

As Poppy smiled, Hermione relaxed, but her grip on Snape's hand didn't slacken. "Thank you, Miss Granger," Poppy said gratefully. "He's going to be just fine now.

One Dementor floated nearby, having returned from outside. One gnarled finger pointed back "home".

Snape nodded to her. "Back to bed. You did very well."

Hermione thumped into him, hugging his waist in silent emotional upheaval— and had he not seen how easily she gave such compassion to Dementors, he would have thought her mad.

"Yes, Master," she said, projecting happiness and relief like a beacon.

The Dementor took her up into its arms.

"I'm fine," Hermione said, snuggling into its embrace. "Thank you for helping."

The Dementor enfolded her and carried her off— right out the window and away.

Poppy thumped down into a nearby seat. "If I hadn't seen— I would never have— I—"

Snape, privately happy that she was speechless over it as he didn't want to be the only one with problems wrapping his mind around it, just sniffed. "It  _is_ a bit to take in," he allowed.

Poppy shakily removed her bonnet and ran her hands through her hair. "Severus, that potion you made— You have to publish it and have Mungo's test it for prompt release. You have to. You simply have no idea what this could do to help—"

Snape curled his lip. "I am aware of what it could do," he said grimly. "I am concerned more if she is ready to present in front of board of Healers and show them how it is made."

Poppy's eyes widened. "Wait, it's not just that she communicates with Dementors— she brews with them too."

Snape nodded. "They seem to help her with anything she requires. She does not force or use spells, Poppy, before you even ask. She just asks, and they agree."

"I— I never even thought to communicate with a—"

"Do not presume that just anyone can do so," Snape observed. "I have a feeling that this is something entirely inherent to her."

"What— like the Founders?" Poppy gasped.

"Exactly like the Founders, Poppy," Severus confirmed.

"Gods, Severus, what does that even mean?" Poppy asked.

Severus sighed. "That it is a bloody good thing she's no longer in Gryffindor when her powers awaken fully," he said. "Merlin help anyone who brasses her off and she gains another skill in anger."

Poppy closed her eyes. "I'm so glad it's you then, Severus," she said sombrely.

"Right now she is innocent and kind, compassionate to the fault, and eager to please," Severus said. "If any of that were to turn to the kind of hatred that  _ **I**_  had as a child, she would become more terrible than any Dark Lord— and she would  _excel_ at it, just like she does with everything else."

Poppy nodded.

"If she can turn a Dementor to her side with just gentle words and a touch, try to imagine what she could do to any other Dark creature without the spells and manipulations Dark Lords and Ladies of our history have employed."

Poppy paled. "But she is not an evil girl at all, Severus."

"No, she is not. But pray that all the witless idiots in Gryffindor and the other houses that choose to fear and ostracise her do not end up making her so. She had already tasted hatred by their hands, Poppy, and you know as well as I that our Headmaster tends to favour the blind masses of Gryffindor, even when they are viciously turning on their own."

* * *

The full moon came with a sort of odd gravity, and Snape dearly hoped Lupin had been taking his potion instead of waxing poetic and woolgathering with Potter. Dumbledore assured his staff that the wards he placed on Lupin's quarters were more than adequate, but as Lupin had spent his childhood getting out of safe places to romp the sodding green, so Severus was anything but comfortable with that reassurance.

Deciding that it was time to check on her before bed, he knocked on her chamber door. The door creaked open to expose an empty hollow, and a bit of parchment sitting on the middle of the bed.

Highly doubting it was a "Dear John" sort of letter but curious, he picked it up.

* * *

_Hermione Granger,_

_I've heard all about what you did on that train to Hogwarts, and I am utterly disgusted with you. How dare you engage in evil Dark magic around my son and with Harry around too! Harry is so terribly impressionable, and the last thing he needs is some know-it-all Muggleborn bint teaching him all the bad things that make Slytherin a house of Dark wizards and witches!_

_It serves you right to be kicked out of the noble house of Gryffindor, and I am so very glad that you are no longer there to corrupt my innocent little Ginevra with your foul ideas and corruptive taint._

_You are no longer welcome in my home, and you had better not come anywhere near any of my children or Harry, so help me Merlin!_

_Don't you dare write us again asking if we are well like some caring, considerate person would. We know exactly what you REALLY are, and I would hate for your parents to find out what kind of person their daughter is,._

* * *

The letter was unsigned, but it didn't take a brain surgeon or specialist psi-healer to figure out who the mother of "innocent Ginevra" was. There were splashes of tears dried on the parchment, and Snape cursed in a few different languages.

He placed his hand on the wall of the willow. "Help me find her, please."

The sides of the willow grew warm, and an exit door formed, allowing him to step outside into the deepening night. He pulled lightly on the strands of the apprenticeship bond, closing his eyes to better sense her emotions and location.

Thankfully, the girl was no Occlumens (yet, he corrected himself) and he could sense her easily. She was hurt, emotionally, and she was crying—  _ **damn**_ that sodding Molly Weasley. Damn her pretentious children that blabbed bad things back to their mother as surely as Draco would yell, "My father will hear about this!"

As he headed her way, the full moon was more than obvious across the wet grass, and he hurried along. His history with full moon adventures at Hogwarts had not been the kind of thing he would ever wish a repeat of. Normally he would have reamed any student for being out at this hour, but after having read Molly's horrid letter, he couldn't blame the girl for losing control of her emotions and fleeing into the night.

She just picked an especially horrible night to do it, not that the witch knew any better.

There was an rush of relief through the connection between them, and he heard female giggling.

"Where did you come from?" Hermione's voice said. "You're so funny. Do you want me to throw this?"

The sound of frantic scampering came soon after, followed by Hermione's laughter.

"I'm better now, thanks," she said. "That letter just made me so angry and sad and— everything."

As Severus came into the clearing, he saw Hermione rubbing the furry belly of the largest damn wolf—  _werewolf_ — the world had probably ever seen. His ears were torn, scars went down his face from fights, and he had multiple patches of fur missing from very recent scuffles.

The werewolf was on his back getting the best damn belly rub of his life, his tongue hanging out like a happy hound's.

As Severus arrived, the werewolf paid him no mind, just wagged his tail as he was rubbed by Hermione's gentle hands.

The werewolf had a stick clutched in his jaws, and he was slobbering all over it in enthusiasm.

"Apprentice?" he said.

Hermione started. "Oh! Master! I'm— I'm sorry. I was really upset earlier and— well, I was crying and being— I know how you  _hate_ crying, so I ran out where I could be alone, and I found Fenrir here, and he wanted to play fetch."

Severus tried really hard not to let his jaw hit the ground.

_Fenrir?_

Fenrir Greyback was playing fetch with—

She grabbed the stick and threw it, and Fenrir was promptly off like a shot, bounding through the woods. He came back shortly after, dropping the stick in her lap to lick her face and her tears away.

Hermione sputtered and gave him a hug around the neck, and the werewolf wagged his tail— blissfully ignorant of "proper werewolf behaviour."

"Fenrir, this is Severus, my master. Please be good to him, okay? He's really important to me."

The werewolf cocked his head, whined softly, and wagged his tail.

He nudged the stick, and she threw it again. Away he went, bounding through the dense undergrowth. By the time he came back, Hermione had stood up and bowed to Severus. "I'm sorry, Master."

Severus looked at her, looked at Fenrir's wagging tail, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Let's go home."

They walked back to the Whomping Willow together, with Fenrir running happy circles around them all the way, with the stick in his mouth and tail-wagging furiously.

* * *

The next morning, Aurors were surrounding poor Hermione as she hugged the werewolf around the neck, the sun came up— and Fenrir remained a werewolf.

It wasn't that Fenrir stopped being a werewolf, but he wasn't changing back into a human form. Dumbledore stood as he talked with the Aurors— and Hermione tugged on Severus' sleeve.

"Hn?" Severus grunted.

"Who is  _that_ , Master?"

"Amelia Bones. Head of the Department of Mysteries," he said.

"And the guy with the odd-looking eye that keeps staring at me?"

"Alastor Moody. Auror. Malcontent. Pain in many an arse."

Hermione hugged Fenrir tighter, and the werewolf tail-wagged even harder.

"Headmaster, this isn't just some random werewolf, this is Fenrir fucking Greyback," Alastor was yelling.

"It's a familiar bond, damnit," Amelia hissed. "This isn't some small thing. This is Founder's level magic. This is the stuff we read about and don't see in real life. It's real, Alastor. We just haven't seen in since— well, we haven't seen it in our lifetime, most assuredly."

"Fenrir is a sodding messed up excuse for a wizard—"

"The wizard , yes," Amelia agreed. "But it seems like the werewolf, when not driven to bite and attack anything that moves, is not so messed up."

Alastor looked ready to spew venom and hate, but Amelia raised her hand. "The familiar bond has stabilised the wolf, Alastor. Look at him. He's sitting here with thirteen Aurors, you, me, the headmaster, a child, and a teacher, and he's happily chewing on a stick and letting her hug him so tight his eyes are bugging out.

"But for how long, Amelia? What if he eventually turns back and attacks people?"

"Familiar bonds are forever, Alastor, you  _know_ that. Have you ever thought that maybe the wolf wants it that way? That the wolf is finally at peace and maybe that's why he hasn't changed back? What do we really know about werewolves? They crave the company of their own kind, right? But they are driven to bite and infect others for what? More of their own kind— to feel complete. But it never lasts, because they turn back. Maybe the wolf isn't as happy with such fake comfort. Maybe true happiness— is this."

"Enslaved to a mere girl?"

Amelia shot Alastor a harsh glare. "Headmaster, I would have Miss Granger take Fenrir with her to my werewolf expert in the DoM. We'll run some specialised tests and see if he is truly as stable as he appears to be. If he is, I would beg you to allow him to stay with her, as being parted from a true familiar can cause serious emotional pain to both."

"I have already agreed to this, Headmaster," Severus said. "As her master, I believe it to be the wisest choice for both her continued stability and health as well as Fenrir's— who seems the most stable I have ever see him."

Albus stroked his beard. "Severus is her master, Amelia. I will not go against his wishes for his apprentice, as he has the bond in which to know her well being better than any of us."

Hermione rubbed Fenrir's ears. "What do you think, Fenrir?"

 _ **Brwoool,**_ he growled, swiftly pegging her right between the eyes with his lolling tongue.

Alastor grumbled. "I don't like this, Albus. I don't like that you let a young, impressionable witch apprentice with Snape, either."

Dumbledore's eyes hardened. "You  _will_ respect the bond between master and apprentice, Alastor, and you know my feelings about Severus."

Alastor grunted something rude under his breath, but jutted his chin out in acquiescence.

Amelia kindly put out her hand. "Would you like to come with me, my dear?"

Hermione immediately looked to Severus for guidance. Seeing his nod, she took Amelia's hand. "Okay."

Severus handed Dumbledore the crumpled bit of parchment containing the note that had driven a crying Hermione out into the night to play fetch with a werewolf. Albus took it grimly and nodded. "I'll perform a trace on it at once, Severus."

They left the Headmaster's office through the floo, and Albus vigorously rubbed his temples with his fingers.

* * *

" _ **Whoaaa!"**_ Hermione cried. The room was full of pens and habitats. Creatures of all kinds roamed within— many of them looking pretty ferocious as they paced around their enclosures.

A litter of spotted cubs placed their paws on the enclosure, mrowling for attention. Hermione put her hand against the mesh, and they licked her hand. She slid her hand between the slats and rubbed them, and they pounced and played and rubbed up against her hand.

"You're so adorable!" she said, and Fenrir came up to sniff them too.

The cubs stared up at him with wide eyes, not sure what to think until he pegged them playfully with his tongue.

When Hermione took her hand out, the cubs all cried plaintively, and the mother padded out to investigate, all spots and velvet draped on the frame of a huge feline. The mother Nundu snuffled Hermione through the mesh. Hermione put her hand against it, and the Nundu's rough tongue rasped across it, tickling her.

"Hello. You're  _so_ beautiful," Hermione said softly.

The Nundu purred, head-bonking against the enclosure.

The next enclosure had a litter of smokey pups with coal, reptilian skin and very real smoke rising from their bodies. They bounced up and down against the barrier, tails wagging. Their mother, dripped magma from her body. Her mouth was full of jagged, stalactite teeth.

Hermione stared at her, fascinated. She put her hand out and it passed through the wards with a tingle. The creature lay its head on her hand, even as the magma dripped from its body, crooning as she stroked its muzzle, head, and ears. She could feel its rapture at the physical contact— having been denied it due to her "condition." Hermione boggled somewhat as the "magma" touched her, heating up her hand and arm where it hit, but it did not burn her. Instead it spread a pattern of geometrics up her arm with a rush of heated magic. Triangles, diamonds, and diamond-swirls crawled up her arm, spreading across her skin like a living tapestry.

Hermione's eyes fluttered as the barrier gave way, and she flopped down on the floor. The great magma beast dragged her inside the enclosure and curled around her, grooming her with its flaming tongue as the patterns on Hermione's skin grew darker and more solid. The pups squirmed and cuddled up against her.

Fenrir, cocking his head in curiosity, padded in, waded into the mess, and lay next to her, patiently waiting for his mistress to wake up from her nap.

The Nundus in the next enclosure looked upon the young sleeping witch with nothing short of pure longing. The cubs, not to be deterred, started digging down, down, down into the floor of the enclosure. Fenrir, attracted by their frantic diggery, decided to provide an "assist" from the other side.

* * *

"I just left for five minutes!" the young wizard said.

"You call  _this_ five minutes of work?!" Amelia tore into him, pointing to the massive creature pileup in aisle nine. The enclosures had been entirely wrecked as multiple beasts had clearly decided they were no longer content to be contained "in there" when Hermione was "over there."

Nundus, volcanic nightmare-dogs, dragon-bats, chimaeras, wampus cats, pygmy dragons, horned serpents— and those were just the ones that had managed to escape to be in the cuddle pile— were all gathered around a sleeping Hermione like a protective ring of "oh shite".

Hermione's skin was now a patchwork of strange, moving tattoos— while the base seemed to be polynesian in origin, it was joined by other patterns. One pattern for each of the creatures around her, from a werewolf to the distinctively terrifying Dementor.

"Those species aren't even supposed to  _like_ each other!" someone protested from behind Amelia.

"They do now!" Amelia snapped.

"Apprentice," Snape said, his voice pitched low.

Hermione stirred. "Master?" She yawned widely and sat up, stretching.

Some of the creatures growled, moving forward.

"That is my master and my friend," Hermione said, her eyes glowing with a flash of gold. "He is important to me. Do not harm him."

The creatures lay back down and went back to being cuddly.

"We have an appointment to keep with the werewolf-expert," Severus said dryly. "And perhaps a few others now."

Hermione's eyes widened. "I'm sorry, did I sleep through it all?"

Severus put out his hand. "No, but we should go before you attract any more… new friends."

Hermione pulled herself up on Fenrir. "Okay!"

Hermione took her master's hand and dutifully walked beside him, staying by his side without distractions.

Amelia glared at the man who had one task, which was to keep an eye on one young witch. "If you weren't so good at keeping this place in great shape, I swear to Merlin, Stebbins, I'd transfer you to someplace extremely dark, cold, and far away from here."

The young wizard stared at his shoes. "My apologies, ma'am."

As the trail of supposedly dangerous XXXXX creatures trailed after Hermione like a chain of animals following Noah to the ark, Amelia rubbed her temples.

* * *

"Severus, I'd like to offer you and your young apprentice a job here at the DoM." Amelia said, tapping her quill as she filled out an extensive parchment. "You as our Master of Potions and she as our Master of Magical Creatures in training. I have outlined here the details, benefits, expectations, and accommodations for you as her master with responsibilities to see to her regular education."

"We will, of course, have a range of masters here to assist you in rounding out her education in any areas you wish expansion," Amelia said.

"You've  _got_ to be joking," Severus said, his face utterly gobsmacked. He pointed at the salary and benefits. "You're willing to pay me, just me, this— and her half of that?"

"Well, she will have double that once she is her own master, but yes," Amelia said.

"And you are fully aware of my… previous affiliations?"

Amelia snorted. "Of course."

"And you want to give  _her_ —" he pointed at Hermione with his thumb, "full access to your library archives?" Severus sniggered, unable to contain himself.

Hermione perked at the mention of books, and all the ears in the room that weren't human did as well.

Snape scowled at the parchment. "And if my Mark burns?"

"We are all family here," Amelia said. "There will no shortage of masters who wouldn't be ecstatic to have her in case you had to— leave suddenly."

Hermione tilted her head at the conversation, but said nothing. Her master would speak of it if and when he wanted to and not a minute before.

"And if we sign our souls away to the DoM," Severus said. "You will take care of the negotiations with Albus on our behalf?"

"Considering she now has a rampaging horde of dangerous creatures that would terrify most of the school, that will not be a problem," Amelia assured him.

Hermione whispered into Fenrir's ear. "Are you a rampaging horde?"

Fenrir tilted his head. Browl?

"There is, as much as I loathe to bring it up, the matter of Lupin's monthly brewings," Severus said meaningfully.

Amelia nodded. "I will discuss it with Albus and the terms of procuring your work in that area."

"You realise you are giving my apprentice monetary rewards for taking on and finishing tasks, yes?"

"Indeed."

"Your funeral," Snape said, giving his apprentice the eye. "And informing the parents about the change in their daughter's educational environment?"

"We'll take care of it."

"I think the phrase "too good to be true" comes to mind," Snape said, tapping his fingers on the parchment.

"Did you see the part about a fully stocked potions inventory with the right to patent independent projects?"

Snape picked up the parchment, trying not to look like he was snatching it up quickly. He scanned the parchment with narrowed eyes. He drew the tip of his tongue across his teeth as he pondered. "And what do you think about moving here, Apprentice? Does the idea of surrounding yourself in dangerous creatures while continuing your education please you?"

Hermione smiled at him. "Yes, Master!"

"Insufferable girl," Snape said with a small sniff, then he dipped his quill into the ink and signed. He poured the wax from the miniature heater onto the parchment and slammed his ring into the cooling wax. He shoved the parchment over to Hermione, handing her the quill.

Hermione looked over the parchment, frowning as she got to a place. She set it down, pulled out her book bag, and pulled out a dictionary. She flipped through it, found what she was looking for, and then went back to reading the contract. After a good twenty minutes of her reading every inch of the contract in detail, she signed her name on the line.

The contract rolled itself up, sealed, and was carried away by a what looked like a winged pika.

Hermione stared.

"Contracts are delivered to the department directly. Owls are used when they must fly longer and further away. Pikas are good for short distances, and they are very, very fast."

Hermione nodded, visibly fascinated.

"Well, give us a few hours to provide you with your new living quarters, as we will have to construct it along with the new multi-species habitat enclosure for your multitude of new friends. Ah, and we do have to give you the proper Mark so you can access this part of the Ministry without being confronted by the wards and guards and all that." She pulled out a lacquered box and a different wand. "We tend to put it in inconspicuous places, such as in the hair— unless you are bald, and then we put it somewhere else."

Severus nodded, tilting his head to the side so she could place the wand behind the ear. There was a flash of blue and then nothing. He gestured to Hermione, and she looked a little nervous. She grasped his hand for comfort as she tilted her head to the side. In a wink it was done, and Hermione seemed rather surprised that it hadn't hurt at all. She released the death grip on Snape's fingers and gave him an apologetic smile.

Finding it odd that he nodded so easily to her and that her response was always so genuinely happy, he wondered just how moronic her supposed friends were in Gryffindor that they didn't fight more for her company.

Completely moronic, he decided.

"We have a wonderful couple who run our canteen and are used to all manner of oddness down here, if you would like to catch a good home-cooked meal. Around the circle and take the corridor by the blue tree. Can't miss it after that."

Snape nodded, standing. Hermione stood too, and Fenrir snorted awake, having fallen asleep at her feet while waiting for all the boring stuff to be over with. He tail-wagged enthusiastically when she hugged his neck.

A Nundu cub sank his claws into her calf, wanting attention.

"Ow." Hermione picked the errant cub up, frowning.

The cub mrowled, puffing out a small, green cloud of disease.

"That's not very nice. Next time, no claws, and be careful who you breathe on."

The cub hung his head in shame.

Hermione kissed his head, and he purred, snuggling up under her neck.

Snape just shook his head. "Let's go eat, shall we? I am curious as to what kind of hellish food they serve here to make up for the fact that other things are sickeningly enjoyable."

Hermione beamed. "Yes, Master."

As master and apprentice shuffled off, the odd menagerie of beasts that had crammed themselves in all places of Amelia's crowded office and the hall outside her office followed after their mistress.

"Sorry, Albus," Amelia said. "Trust me, I'm doing you a favour by bringing them into the fold over here."

A pair of Dementors floated by her office, headed towards where Hermione and Severus had left.

Amelia blinked. "A really big favour," she said, dipping her quill into the inkwell and writing her memo to warn her people of the new acquisitions.

* * *

_**End of Chapter One** _


	2. rolling with the punches

Beta Love: The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard, and Hollowg1rl

  
A/N: Thank you for the wonderful comments, everyone! I’m sorry I can’t reply to everyone, but I do read every single review. I’m very happy you liked the start of the story!

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis  
Chapter Two

At his best, man is the noblest of all animals;  
separated from law and justice he is the worst.  
Aristotle

Hermione hadn’t realised just how many of the things in the dungeon were actually Snape’s until they were packing everything up to leave. Having been given permission to use the “portable hole” that you could throw anything into and have it appear at the DoM, it was only a matter of packing things securely so it could be whisked away on the other side to the proper stacks.

  
She sat in a free moment with an old copy of Advanced Potions Making, her fingers running across the writing of her master’s younger self— it didn’t take much to make the connection. He was as through in writing notes to himself as he was in writing notes to her.

  
“Take to make note of what hatred and bitterness can do to warp the course of your learning, Apprentice. Take this as a lesson in what focus can do— for the better or the worse.”

  
Hermione hugged the book to herself. It was her master’s book, and she would cherish it like his other lessons— lessons that the Dark was only one side of a greater spectrum, with the possibility to help and harm, both others and one’s self. She wrapped the book in cloth and tucked into a crate with other bottles and books before sealing it. Then, she levitated it into the “hole” where it disappeared to the DoM.

  
Snape was talking with the headmaster, and judging by his scowl, it was not anything good. Her master wasn’t exactly the accept and live-and-let-live sort, and she could tell by the twitch of his eyebrow that whatever they were discussing, that it wasn’t about what they were having for lunch. Whatever discomfort she may have had with her master before their apprenticeship she had left behind her. With him directly responsible for her he was much more direct in his reasonings, and he took his obligations seriously. She found she could accept a lot of what he was easier when he wasn’t being so cruel to her as he was before. He was still a right git a lot of the time, but he seemed to temper himself and explain things more closely so she didn’t have that impulse to wave her hand around as much.

  
Truthfully, he had become a friend— at least how she defined it. He watched over her, spoke his mind, shared thoughts. That was what real friends did. He was still her teacher, but the one-on-one, deeper relationship was comforting. She accepted that he was looking out for her, and she paid that back with obedience and giving him her very best.

  
She had to admit that the Dementors, Fenrir, the Willow, and her newest creatures at the DoM were far more understanding friends than she had endured in Gryffindor. She wondered what her parents would think of it all. They were always pretty accepting about her “friends” she brought home. Her mother was quite fond of the “flying lizards” that ate up all the houseflies and also helped her in the kitchen. Her father said as long as they weren’t stealing his watch and moving his car keys, or rearranging the contents of his boot, he was okay with them. Her mother wasn’t a fond fan of creepy crawlies, but she was totally in for flying lizards that ate them. It made sense— at least more sense than burning down the house to get rid of a centipede like that barmy woman in Swansea.

  
Her father said the woman was obviously unhinged, but after seeing it on the news for a good month, she was convinced her parents were, by far, perfectly well-grounded individuals with just enough openness to accept a magical daughter. They might have preferred her to somehow be a magical dentist— but Hermione really wasn’t into teeth after having had to stare at her own beaver teeth day in and day out.

  
Fenrir set his large head on the nearby table, proving once again he was big enough to be her personal polo-wolf, if there was such a thing. He did enjoy carting her around on his back, though, and she always enjoyed the rather wild romp he would engage in as he tore through the grass and brush with her clinging to his neck to keep from falling off. Between him and the mother Nundu, they put the entire concept of wild rides into an entirely new category.

  
Hermione caught a soft rustling in her knapsack, and she opened it to find two stowaways hidden within. A volcanic nightmare pup and one of the Nundu cubs had wriggled into her bag, not wanting to be left behind when she was going off on an adventure. She tried to frown, but she couldn’t maintain it. They were just way too adorable with their wide, round eyes, pudgy bodies, and drippy cuteness.

  
She could tell it was the oldest of the pups due to the magma starting to drip from his body, unlike his younger siblings that still smoldered instead. Her first lesson with the current Master of Beasts was how to fireproof anything— or magma pup-proof everything, which was far more complex than simple fireproofing when they had super sharp obsidian puppy teeth, pissed fire, and shat lava.

  
She was apparently immune, but her library hadn’t been. Now, it was, thank Merlin. After having her shoes chewed on (and utterly destroyed) her new pair was too. Live and learn, that was Hermione Granger.

  
Hermione smiled, having finished with the entire classroom, leaving behind only the things her master had specified belonged to the school. It looked— scarily empty. She was proud her master trusted her to pack all their things. Harry or Ron would have thought he was just making her his slave, but she knew he wouldn’t trust just anyone to pack their things with or without a list. She was always meticulous, and she knew he would come back and check if she missed anything, but that was okay. Just because he double checked didn’t mean he didn’t think she was up to it.

  
She was pretty sure she got everything. Except for that top shelf she couldn’t quite reachEEEAGGGH!

  
The Dementor lifted her up by the waist so she could check the top shelf.

  
“Oh!” she giggled. “Thank you!”

  
As she hovered the things down, taking all the things from the list and leaving the others— some of it looked like it’d been there for centuries. Some jars had the initials H.S. on them, and she wondered who that had been. The writing was overly loopy and ornate— the kind of thing that took longer to write one letter than most people took to write a sentence. It wasn’t in the shorthand that her master had been teaching her either.

  
She loved learning the shorthand. It felt like a secret language only the elite knew, and even if that was total rubbish, it made her happy to imagine it.

  
Within a few minutes, all the top shelves had been cleaned up and cleaned off, leaving it better than it was previously. Whoever came after would have pristine shelves to fill.  
When the tall, aristocratic Lucius Malfoy came in, Hermione dove into the Dementor’s embrace, shivering, but not in cold. The man made her very nervous. Draco was far easier to handle or ignore as the situation called for, but the elder Malfoy— ever since he’d slipped that diary in Ginny’s cauldron, she hadn’t really trusted him in any capacity.  
Though— when she thought about it— she didn’t really trust anyone in any capacity anymore, except her teachers. Her own house had pushed her out— and even if only a few Gryffindors had been guilty of that, the others had stood back and let it happen. While Slytherin had become civil enough to her, she believed it was only because she was Snape’s apprentice and not because they truly liked her. Hufflepuff thought she knew too much. Ravenclaw thought she didn’t know enough— because if she truly knew any better, shouldn’t she be studying more instead of telling people about it?

  
Well, none of that, at least anymore. The masters in the DoM seemed eager to teach whatever she desired during the times when she wasn’t directly doing things for her master, and she liked having options to choose from. And they didn’t mind her having all her other friends coming along to keep her company. That was even better— though, admittedly, she tried to limit herself to a few at a time, just for space considerations.

  
The headmaster was staring at her— no, he was staring at the Dementor. There was the nervous query in his stance she recognised. Dementors were just not easily accepted company to most people. Hermione thought otherwise, especially when in the company of Lucius Malfoy. The Dementor seemed to sense her distress, and it covered her in its cloak, allowing her to hug its waist like a small child hiding from the boogey man. The irony was thick— but she couldn’t help being uncomfortable under such scrutiny.  
She wondered if the Dementors would stay at Hogwarts when she left. It was their job, after all, to find Sirius Black. There lay another reason to be happy in the bowels of the Ministry’s DoM. Even the mere mention of Sirius Black caused her master to clench his fists and grit his teeth in anger. Some would think that was perfectly normal for Snape, but she had come to realise there was far more complexity in her master’s many easily overlooked tells. All of them seemed like anger, but there were very tiny differences between them.

  
How had she never seen it before?

  
Or had she?

  
Would she have accepted his offer to be his apprentice had she truly believed him evil? Sure, she had once set the poor wizard’s robes on fire, but she’d admittedly done that thinking he was guilty of trying to hurt Harry.

  
Maybe that was when she’d started to think there was more to her teacher than appearances. Now, of course, she knew it— and she would be a true hypocrite if she were to think a person couldn’t have hidden values buried within.

  
“Apprentice.”

  
_Oh gods. Merlin. Crap._

  
Hermione slowly let go of her Dementor friend and slinked over to her master’s side. “Yes, master.”

  
The Dementor followed her, drawn by her distress.

  
The air was cold, she could tell— not that she felt it, but that she could see their breath freezing in the air as the hoarfrost spread through the room.

  
Lucius’ eyes narrowed. “And you are quite certain that this isn’t some sort of fluke, Severus?”

  
“It is not,” Severus said.

  
“You would throw away a successful career—”

  
“I will be fine, Lucius,” Severus said.  
Lucius glared at him, and Hermione knew there was something not being said that was very clear to the both of the adults.

  
Hermione didn’t like Lucius glaring at her. She didn’t want to hide in her master’s robes— okay, so she did— but she knew doing so would not look good on her master in the present company, so she tried to suppress her shudder.

  
GRAWRRRLL!

  
The volcanic nightmare pup tackled the blond wizard’s boot with his obsidian fangs, magma dripping from his baby teeth.

  
RAWRRL!

  
The Nundu cub tackled the other boot, sinking its fangs into Lucius’ other boot.

  
_Oh gods. This is bad. This is really. Oh Merlin._

  
She rushed up and pried the pup off Lucius’ boot, clamping her hand over his molten muzzle. He whined and wriggled, wagging that little stump of a tail, sending bits of lava flying in a few directions. He pegged her with his tongue under her chin.

  
“You’re very brave,” she told the pup, “but you shouldn’t introduce yourself with your mouth.” She tried to sound professional, and she prayed the blond wizard didn’t read more into what she said in other ways.

  
_Gods… I’m such a failure at life._

  
The Nundu cub looked up at her, seeing that the pup was getting cuddles, and disengaged to put her large paws on her knee. Mrowl?

  
Hermione picked them both up, cuddling them.

  
“Please apologise to Mr Malfoy.”

  
Browl.

  
Mrowl.

  
They looked up at Lucius as one would evaluate really large prey as they came up with a game plan for taking him out and eating him for supper.

  
Hermione felt her master’s private amusement without actually seeing it. His face, as usual, was set like stone.

  
“As you can see, Lucius,” Severus said. “She is exactly as I described.”

  
“You also said she was competent.”

  
“I did.”

  
The wizard’s lip curled. “Her… things assaulted my boots.”

  
Severus’ eyes darkened— the light in them disappearing completely. “Do you think you could do better? By all means. Do show her how it is done.”

  
Lucius lifted a hand. “I need not.”

  
Hermione scowled, sensing that he didn’t have any idea how to work with Volcanic Nightmare Hounds and Nundus any more than the average wizard or witch, but he was dismissing it as if it were unnecessary to show his own power.

  
Ah, the power game.

  
True power versus bluff. One had only to show true power a few times to convince others that the bluffs were real. She wondered how long it had been since Lucius Malfoy had showed such power.

  
Just like that, the tension ended between the blond wizard and her master.

  
“Fine, I will take your offer, Headmaster,” Lucius said. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Perhaps I can bring some order to these little heathens I have heard so much about.”

  
Hermione watched her master’s finger twitch.

  
“Ah, thank you, Lucius, let us go up to my office and discuss the details,” Albus said. “Severus, I trust you’ll inform Miss Granger—”

  
“Yes, Headmaster,” Severus said, his voice flat and monotone.

  
“Excellent,” he said. “We will miss you here, my boy. Do take care of yourself.”

  
Snape’s lip curled. “I will.”

  
As the two other wizards left, Snape’s shoulders lost some of their tension.

  
“Master?”

  
“Hn?”

  
“Did I do something wrong?”

  
“No, Apprentice, you did not.”

  
Hermione slowly let out the breath she had been holding.

  
Severus looked around the room. “You are quite thorough.” He did not say anything else, but as he walked around the room, he looked behind some of the jars that she left, a quirk of a smile on his lips when he found nothing amiss.

  
He looked at her with a neutral expression. “Do you wish company in making sure none of your old things were left behind in Gryffindor Tower?”

  
Hermione felt her heart lurch and try to hide in her boots. “Yes, Master. If it would not be too much trouble.”

  
He tilted his head. “It is not.”

  
Snape “folded” the portable hole and tucked it away in a pocket, gesturing with his chin for her to follow. She fell in line next to him, brushing up against his wool robes both for his presence and comfort. Most people would think her mad for finding him comforting, but then again they would think her finding comfort in a Dementor was barking mad, too.

* * *

  
The trek up to Gryffindor Tower was, just as she had expected, ripe with whispered gossip from every shaded corner they passed. Gossip always travelled quickly through Hogwarts, like a virulent plague. Fenrir trotted along beside her like the huge, intimidating beast that he was— tongue lolling as he carried his favourite stick with him. He sported the identification collar from the DoM so no one could confuse him with, say— another disgustingly huge battle-torn werewolf with a known obsession with sticks. The cub and the pup were riding on his back like a pair of jockeys, seemingly enjoying the novel experience.

  
They were met with Professor Lupin, who was leaning up against the railing of Gryffindor Tower. The moment he saw the Dementor, he whipped his wand out, and a blazing white radiance filled the stairway. Hermione dropped to her knees, her hands clamped to her ears as the agonising shriek tore through her.

  
Snape stood in front of her. “What is the meaning of this, Lupin?”

  
“Dementors are not allowed on the school grounds, Severus,” he said. “Besides, there is a crisis going on in the Tower right now.” He pointed to the torn up portrait that was notably missing one Fat Lady. “No one goes in or out.”

  
“So caring for the school rules, now, are you, Lupin?” Snape hissed. “How very… responsible of you. I would have you know that recognised familiars are allowed on school grounds when they are registered by the Ministry. And. All. Of. Hers. Are.” He made each word drip like acidic venom.  
Fenrir growled lowly, his hackles raised and stiff, and Lupin’s eyes widened as his face rapidly paled.

  
“Impossible.”

  
Fenrir’s snarl caused the pup and the cub to snarl too, doing their level best to look mean and vicious.

  
“Tell me, Lupin,” Snape said in a disturbingly quiet voice. “Have you displaced Minerva as Head of House, or do you just like hanging out on the stairs and remembering the good old days when you terrorised the hallways past curfew with your reprobate best mates?”

  
Lupin’s fists clenched in anger, and Fenrir snarled.

  
Lupin, immediately cowed, stepped back quickly.

  
Now Minerva was rushing up the stairs, Hermione right by her side. Snape’s eyes flicked over to his apprentice— the sly girl had slipped off to get her former Head of House. Clever girl. Well worthy of Slytherin.  
Minerva, ire writ bold across every crease of her face, stormed up the stairs with such an intense swirl of her magic about her that Fenrir looked to Hermione for direction. Hermione opened her arms to him, and he eagerly bounded over for a hug, allowing her to comfort him as he comforted her.

  
“Remus, what are you doing here instead of coming to me if there was a situation with Gryffindor?”

  
Lupin flinched when confronted by the elder witch, unable to justify why he was even on the steps to begin with and why he hadn’t come to get her immediately if there had been a problem.

  
Minerva eyed the slashed portrait. “Who did this?”

  
“No one knows,” Lupin said.

  
“Oh, I’m sure someone does,” Minerva replied caustically. “Where is the Fat Lady?”  
The quivering portraits pointed in all directions.

  
Minerva scowled.

  
“She’s hiding from Sirius Black!” one portrait said, pointing down the hall.

  
“She won’t hold still.”

  
“She’s scared to death!”

  
Hermione watched all the expressions very, very carefully. It was self-preservation in Slytherin, and even more necessary around the company her master kept— knowing when to bow and when to make herself scarce was important.

  
Minerva’s expression hardened even more. Her eyes flicked from the portrait— which had been ripped to shreds— and Lupin. “Is it true that you banished Apprentice Granger’s familiar?”

  
“It wasn’t a familiar, it was a Dementor!” Lupin protested.

  
“While I am sure you are our resident expert on Defence, Remus,” Minerva replied coolly, “I do not think you are our expert on familiars— and we all got the warning from the headmaster this morning that Severus and Apprentice Granger would be coming along with a number of her familiars.”

  
“Dementors are Dark emotion-sucking fiends, Minerva! They do not act as familiars to anyone!”

  
“Are you not the one who told us that you saw Apprentice Granger speak with a Dementor on the Hogwarts Express? Did you not witness the Dementor giving her chocolate and exiting the train car?”

  
“Well, yes, but—”

  
“Did it suck all the emotion out of three children and you?”

  
“Well, no, but—”

  
“Then you must admit that not all Dementors are there simply to suck out all your souls indiscriminately!” Minerva argued.

  
Lupin flinched.

  
“So, what, Remus, would cause you to go from advocating that Dementors could show different behavior to driving one away to the point of emotionally traumatising Apprentice Granger with the screams of her familiar?”

  
As the adults confronted each other, Hermione noticed she was one Nundu cub short of a pard. She tugged on her master’s sleeve, subtly, to get his attention. She pantomimed four legs and whiskers.

  
He jutted his chin, giving her permission to go as he maintained his cross-armed and scowling posture.

  
She patted Fenrir. “Help me find the cub, will you, Fenrir?”

  
The werewolf whuffed, tail wagging. Of course he would. He loved tracking things.  
He put his nose down and then sniffed the air. She put her hand on his collar and walked beside him as he guided her along. Unfortunately, Fenrir’s nose let him to the portal that Lupin was standing in front of, and the werewolf was not amused. He growled—

  
Lupin’s hand went to his wand, his body stiffening.

  
A rat went flying between his legs, running down the stars.

  
Followed by a royally brassed-off Crookshanks.

  
Followed by a very excited Nundu cub.

  
Followed by a crazed red-headed Weasley shrieking at the top of his lungs about ‘that bloody cat trying to murder his Scabbers’.

  
The rat and the half-Kneazle made it between Lupin’s legs easily enough, but the excited Nundu cub just ploughed into his legs like a bulldozer and knocked the man off balance. Ron followed after, too angry to watch where he was going, and slammed into Remus.

  
They both went tumbling down the moving staircase, falling off one side to land, one on top of the other with a bone-crunching crash, squarely on top of a mangy-looking black dog.

  
Crookshanks pounced on the rat, and the rat squealed and injured his own tail to escape, only the Nundu cub pounced on it from the other direction, sinking of all its super-sharp kitten teeth into the rat and shaking the body violently over and over, throwing it up in the air and pounce it again, smacking the body into the floor with a good swat from its paw.

  
The rat’s body was still, and then it shook violently as it expanded into the twisted almost rat-like form of a man that was bleeding from many, many puncture wounds.

  
“Well, well,” Snape’s voice oozed velvet and venom as the tip of his boot crushed into Pettigrew’s shoulder— perhaps the one place not torn by Nundu teeth and claws. He put his wand to the wizard’s temple. “Do. Not. Move. Pettigrew. Seems you are not as dead as you wished everyone to believe.”

  
Peter Pettigrew’s eyes, wide with fear— more fear— in the acidic, umbral gaze of his most hated school victim grown up.

  
“Apprentice.”

  
“Yes, Master.”

  
“Use your medallion.”

  
“Yes, Master.”

  
Hermione felt around in her robes and pulled out a disc that hung from a golden chain around her neck. She rubbed the red jewel in the center with her fingers as she said an incantation Amelia had drilled into her over and over until she remembered it. The disc flared into brilliance.

  
“Aurors will be coming— and then some,” Snape said coldly. “I cannot. Wait.”

  
There was a flurry of growls coming from down on the other steps. One Volcanic Nightmare pup had a scruffy-looking man’s leg clutched in his mouth, his molten drool doing quite a number on the man’s skin. The man was screaming in agony, but his futile struggles were causing him even more as his body was still suffering several painful effects from having two wizards land on top of him.

  
Snape’s wand arm twitched. “Well, well, well. What a rrrrrrrrr-red letter day this is.”  
Minerva had already sent her Patronus out to alert the staff and the headmaster as a rapid series of distinctive cracks of Apparition came from outside Hogwarts.  
Hermione, distressed by all the screaming, called the pup to her. The magma pup bounced over to her, leaping the distance between the moving stairs to hop into her arms and snuggle.

  
The portraits were all calling out, “Sirius Black! It’s Sirius Black! That’s Pettigrew, Peter Pettigrew!”

  
“It was the rat all along!”

  
Peter tried to make a break for it in his desperation, but before Snape could even cast a spell, Fenrir tore into the closest arm, sinking his teeth down into the bone, the disturbing crunch of teeth against bone moving against tendon. The rat Animagus screamed shrilly. “No, no, nooo! I don’t want to be a werewolf! NOOO!”

  
“Fen,” Hermione called. “Let our master handle him.”

  
Fenrir released the arm but the tattered cloth had stuck around his fangs, and it ripped, sticking to his muzzle. The werewolf snarled, rubbing his muzzle against the floor to get it free, using his paws to pry the offending fabric off his teeth. He shook his head fiercely and and padded to her side, wedging his head into her side for scritches.  
Peter was too busy moaning and lamenting his fate as a werewolf to notice the shape of the Dark Mark emblazoned on his skin.

  
“Master, what is that?” Hermione asked, seeing the strange movement of his arm, as if the mark was alive under his skin.

  
“Damnation,” Severus said, his voice low and dangerous.

* * *

 

The Aurors arrived soon after, and the word that Ronald Weasley had been harbouring a supposedly-dead wizard and newly-revealed Death Eater as his familiar spread like wildfire, even more quickly than the truth that Sirius Black had been captured as well.

Snape sat in the Ministry courtyard under what appeared to be an apple-pear tree, depending on the mood of the tree. If you were really lucky, you’d get an actual apple pear, otherwise you’d get a random kind of apple or equally random kind of pear. He watched Hermione sitting with the elder Weasleys, allowing her to speak with them in relative privacy, but also staying close just in case she became distressed.

  
Molly and Arthur Weasley had both been shown the parchment Hermione had received that had resulted in her bonding with a werewolf as her familiar— a parchment that had, by all logical clues, been written by Molly. Yet, when Dumbledore had run a trace upon it as well as comparing it to handwriting from previous letters about her children, he had found that it had actually been her youngest child’s attempt at a shaming “joke.”

  
Ginevra had, apparently, succumbed to hazing in order to get into Gryffindor’s good graces for being friends with “a Dark witch,” and it all boiled down to the young witch crafting a perfect shaming letter in the style of her mother’s all-too-well-known howlers.  
The elder Weasleys had been trying to meet with Hermione for weeks, but Severus had blocked them each time until he was sure Hermione wouldn’t knee-jerk summon the wrath of Volcanic Nightmare Hounds or worse down upon their heads.

  
Life in the DoM had done wonders for the young witch’s confidence and happiness, but reminders of her life back at Hogwarts seemed to be fraught with stumbling blocks and emotional triggers.

  
With the discovery of Peter Pettigrew, Scabbers the rat extraordinaire, as well as Sirius Black, both highly-touted Gryffindors who had fallen from grace, it hadn’t just been the Weasleys taking a reality check about the “light side” being beyond reproach.

  
Though, from the rumour mill from the Auror team and Unspeakables that had come to handle Pettigrew, Black, and Weasley’s entanglement, Mr Weasley was not taking the truth of having slept, cuddled, and kissed a wizard pretending to be his rat very well. Not at all.

  
Snape’s smile was wickedly genuine. His enjoyment of the situation was more than a little payback for their shared history.  
Dumbledore had seemed utterly weary by the time Hermione and he had left, having collected Crookshanks and a few things that had “mysteriously” found their way into certain other hands in the Gryffindor tower. He’d requested all of the things be scanned thoroughly before she used or even touched them again.

  
Children.

  
He shuddered.

  
He swore they were more irresponsible and cruel in a combination that almost guaranteed they would kill each other off— yet somehow, they didn’t. Was that a miracle or resilience?

  
Fortunately for Hermione, she never wore the necklace or earrings her mother had given her— just kept them on a box on the bedside table to remind her of her parents— so she hadn’t tried to put them on immediately. She seemed disheartened that her mother’s gift would have been tampered with in any way. Having it stolen by one Ginny Weasley to placate the other girls, however, just drove Hermione’s heart into a place he knew well: scorn.

  
His forgiveness to the little chit was not coming anytime soon— even if Hermione eventually chose to forgive her. He was the one who had to coax her out of her depression and the pileup of worried familiars that wouldn’t let anyone else but him inside the ring of protective fury that was her more reliable friend network. The irony that he— Severus Tobias Snape, bastard extraordinaire— would ever be the person to provide comfort to an emotionally damaged witch was surreal. He had, of course, experienced enough selfishness at the hands of fellow students to know the depths of their untrustworthiness.

  
There was something calming about how she wrapped her arms around his waist and sobbed into his robes— not that he wanted her crying, for Merlin’s sake. Sobbing witches tended to be emotional bombs that blew to pieces and made a mess everywhere.

  
But Hermione, unlike her blatant hand-waving self, buried herself into his robes and sniffled, taking comfort from his presence. He had not abandoned her, and he knew in that moment that she truly relied on him— not to be some great and gushing friend— but not to change. To be there— that was what she wanted, no, needed.

  
And maybe, just maybe, she was just what he needed as well.

  
Molly was getting a little too shrill, and he could sense Hermione’s emotions spike— and that was a dangerous thing for a girl who summoned beasts to comfort her.  
Snape stood, cracking his neck before walking over to her. He said nothing, allowing his gaze to say everything for him. He sat down beside her, daring Molly or Arthur to say something. Hermione scooched over to press her body into his, not an obvious thing like clinging to his hand or anything disgustingly obvious. Just that soft warmth of closeness seemed to be enough.

  
Hermione squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  
Ah, there it was. The defiance. The courage. How easily it came to her when she felt the closeness of those she could rely on— as twisted as that seemed that she could gain that from him of all people.

  
“I appreciate everything you have done for me, Mr and Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said firmly. “But, I will not lie to Headmaster Dumbledore about the sequence of events that Ginny’s letter drove me to.”

  
Fenrir snorted awake from the place by her feet, and he rose up into a sitting position, laying his huge head on the table top. Hermione stroked his ears fondly, and the werewolf’s tongue lip, lip, lipped as he tried to peg her hand as she went by. Ginny had become a codeword for tears in Fenrir’s vocabulary, and he didn’t like his mistress crying any more than Snape did— probably for different reasons, or maybe not so much.  
Molly’s eyes grew very, very wide as she eyed Fenrir— and how Hermione playfully put her wrist in his mouth, and he grabbed it, playfully “gnawing” on her but never once breaking skin.

  
Even knowing that he wasn’t contagious anymore— it was more than a little unnerving to watch. The rat hadn’t known that either, and everyone had just let him think he was going to turn furry on the full moon as they dragged him away to gaol. Pity that the rat’s being alive meant that Sirius wasn’t guilty of murder, so he was going before the Wizengamot, again, to sort out what he was guilty of— escaping Azkaban, being an unregistered Animagus— and how that rated to the time he’d already served for the wrong crime. Obviously if the rat wasn’t dead, there was some suspicion on if he’d really killed those thirteen Muggles that he’d sworn he hadn’t.

  
Sadly, Severus had to admit, if Sirius Black was going to go killing a bunch of Muggles after killing one of his former best mates, he probably wasn’t going to leave them pristinely skewed about in a orgy of excessive evidence. He’d had too much experience avoiding the rules to do something that… contradictory. Especially since he and Potter had gone into the Aurors after school.

  
That was an irony that made Snape’s skin crawl.

  
Arthur, the voice of reason, was nodding. He put a hand on Molly’s arm. “Molly, love, you have to face the fact that Ginny did some bad things, and she’s going to have to live with detentions and not being in the right. You can’t always be there to defend her, and she has to learn that bad things come when you do bad things. We wouldn’t be much for parents if we taught her that and then rescued her every time she did.”

  
Molly wrung her hands again, staring at Fenrir like he was rabid.

  
Fenrir licked his chops— intentionally.

  
“But she was scared, Arthur! Scared of the Dementors!”

  
Arthur scowled. “Now, look, Molls. Dementors are scary, yes, and it doesn’t help that all we hear about them is ‘suck out your soul’ and ‘drains all the happiness’ and then we teach our kids that Dementors will get you if you don’t behave. It’s partially our fault— no not just us, but everyone— for painting them as pure evil. Still— boogeymen or not— Ginny should have known better than to steal, and she most definitely should have known better than to forge a letter from you to drive Hermione into the woods on a full moon to find herself a werewolf.”

  
Fenrir looked at Hermione, and she pressed a kiss to his nose. He tail wagged in appreciation— had it been anyone else, they might have gotten their face bitten.

  
Snape snorted at the ‘find herself a werewolf.’ Arthur made it sound like she went out moonlighting to shack up with a werewolf. The truth was far more comical. Fenrir wanted to play fetch— surely why else would he park himself in places where children were all the time? But sadly, until he met Hermione, regular human children only triggered his need to bite and infect. None of them wanted to play with him. He was probably frustrated. Angry even. He wondered, if the human Fenrir knew that his wolf only wanted to fetch sticks, if he’d not be so keen on the entire werewolf thing.  
Hermione seemed to appreciate Arthur’s gravity when it came to respecting her position. It hadn’t been her fault that Ginevra had decided to go completely gung-ho on the shun-Hermione train, and Ginevra did need to learn that that her actions would beget consequences.

  
Molly, of course, seemed utterly despondent over it, as if the end of the world was coming because her baby girl wasn’t perfect.

  
News flash, Molly. No one is. Not even your children.

  
“But— Dumbledore said it was up to her if Ginny had to have any further punishment!” Molly protested.

  
The air seemed to get colder as Hermione’s body stiffened. “Mrs Weasley, I appreciate what you have done for me in the past, but I’m going to ask you something that I want you to answer honestly. If Ginny was the one who had been hurt, had she been the one who had been ostracised and had her things stolen and cursed, would you be even entertaining the thought of someone getting away with it for any reason?”

  
“NO!” Molly said immediately— and then her eyes got terribly wide as she realised what she had just admitted. “No, no, no— Ginny is different. She’s so young and impressionable!”

  
Arthur put his hand over Molly’s hands. “Molly, just stop. We came here today to make peace with Hermione, not attempt to browbeat the girl into letting Ginny get away with what she chose to do of her own free will.”

  
“Arthur!” Molly’s voice became full-on shrill.  
“No, Molly. Don’t make us hypocrites, now,” he said sternly. “Ginny’s going to have to learn that she will always have to pay a price for her shameful deeds. Just as we both are for pressuring Dumbledore into letting Ron keep Percy’s old rat as a familiar— and we see how well that worked out.”

  
Molly paled significantly.

  
Hermione stood to leave, lightly brushing her fingers against the skin of Snape’s wrist in the silent signal that she was done. Severus nodded silently, turning to take up his place slightly ahead of her and lead her back to the safety of the DoM.

  
Molly, however, saw the gesture and promptly misinterpreted Hermione’s silent appeal for him to lead her away from her for something quite inappropriate.

  
“You think he’s so safe to latch onto?” Molly cried in outrage. “Him? He’s nothing but a bloody Dark wizard. A Death Eater!” Her wand was out and in her hand, a hastily-aimed spell flying after them.

  
Severus stood in front of Hermione, his arm braced to catch the curse with a shield, but it was a hair less strong that he was expecting to need in such a public place.  
His left robe sleeve was sliced away as it caught his bicep, and blood began trailing heavily down his arm.

  
“Master!” Hermione cried, catching him as he crumpled against the bench in pain.  
Arthur had wrestled the wand out of his wife’s hand— but it was already too late.  
Hermione quickly pulled the amulet from around her neck and hissed out the incantation. It blazed with light even as time seemed to slow down.

  
Hoarfrost began to spread across the floor as Dementors floated in from random directions. Their black robes flickering by invisible wind as the air sucked all the heat from the warmth it touched.

  
“Master,” Hermione cried again, her eyes began to glow a startlingly bright white-blue.

  
The Dementors placed hands on Snape’s arm— the blood began to slow. Hermione took a vial of glowing liquid from one Dementor’s fingers, uncorking it as she dipped a tiny dropper into it and fumbled over Snape’s arm. Her hands were shaking badly, and she dripped in more than a few drops in her haste— guiding the drops into each laceration.

  
Green vapour rose from his arm as Snape hissed sharply, his body convulsing.

  
“Mind his head!” Hermione cried, her fear rising.

  
Fenrir propped himself up against Snape’s back to keep his head from hitting the floor as he shook himself off the bench. The Dementors hissed and whispered, their cold covering his arm as the tincture did its work.  
Black tar oozed from his lacerations like ink— foul and unnatural. It tried to go back into him, but the potion was not allowing it. His flesh was sealing closed, cutting off all reentry portals. The foul tar condensed into a ball as the hoarfrost surrounded it, and the ball crackled and froze solid. After a few seconds, the ball shattered as the what sounded like the faint scream of some far-off man was abruptly cut off.

  
POP!

  
A fluffy spider the size of a grapefruit landed on Snape’s arm, looked about, and wove him a new robe sleeve. The spider had velvety black “fur” and a skull-like marking on its abdomen.

  
“Oh hai!” it greeted. “I’m Blodwyn! And you look like you could really use some tea and biscuits!”

  
The cheery female spider conjured up a large tray with hot tea, sugar, cream, assorted biscuits, pastries and stacks of dainty tea sandwiches.

  
Amelia and a small squad of Unspeakables descended upon Snape, quickly looking him over. Amelia pulled Hermione toward her. “Shh, shh, love, he’ll be fine. We’re just making sure everything is okay after you used the potion.”

  
The Dementors pulled away from Snape, allowing the air to warm up again. Severus wordlessly poured himself some of the blessedly fortifying tea and drank it straight, picked up the cream, and drank that down too. He then ate a sugar cube, then a biscuit, and let out an almost-hysterical cackle of laughter.

  
Blodwyn eyed the tray of refreshments with curious multiple eyes. “I really don’t think that’s the normal way to drink tea but okay!”

  
Hermione clung tight to Amelia, unsure of just what was happening.  
Snape rubbed his arm, his fin

gers feeling the smooth, unblemished skin under his newly-mended sleeve. “You silly, wonderful girl,” he choked on another laugh as he praised her.

  
“Master?” she said, kneeling beside him even as the Unspeakables worked over him.  
He pulled her hand over to his arm, allowing her small hand to rest over his pale, pristine skin.

  
The fluffy spider scurried over to settle over their joined hands. “You’re keepers. I’m adopting you.”

  
Snape lay his head back on Fenrir and closed his eyes.

  
Hermione, who had her head on his chest as she listened to the beating of his heart. She guided Fenrir’s head down to listen too. The werewolf cocked his head, lay it down on Snape’s chest, and then his tail wagged joyfully. Hermione smiled with relief. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Master.”

  
Snape’s free hand gently touched her curls. “It will take much more than a mere slicing curse to be rid of me, Apprentice.”

  
Hermione let out a long sigh. “I find I am gratified that this is so.”

  
As Hermione stood, allowing the Unspeakables to do their work even as the Aurors did their job to keep the drama-hungry crowds from invading, she saw Molly—

  
Hermione’s eyes blazed white as the chilling cold of the hoarfrost swirled around her. Her jaw tightened. Her small fists clenched. She scowled as her body seemed to slough off her respect and emerge anew. Her curls seemed to rise up and writhe like they were alive.

  
“You— attack me because I trust my master?” Hermione hissed.

  
Fenrir growled next to her.

  
She waved her hand, and a swarm of angry budgie-sized bees zoomed by her head and towards a white-faced Molly Weasley.

  
“You think just because he made some mistakes in his youth that he’s automatically damned forever? Didn’t you only just plead to me that Ginny had just made one mistake and that she could be better— that she was worth giving another chance?!” Her eyes flashed, and small lizards started to crawl off the random foliage and towards Molly en masse. One made it to her ankle and bit her, and she screamed as though a thousand acidic hypodermics were being shot into her at once.

  
“How DARE you assume that since you did me a good turn once or twice that you have somehow earned the right to direct my life when you weren’t there defending me against your own children. How dare you!”  
Hermione’s arms and exposed flesh began to glow with her runes and tattoos. Trails of fire and ice slithered across her skin as she stormed towards Molly, each step leaving hoarfrost— and lava in her wake. Dementors were floating towards them. A horde of Volcanic Nightmare hounds were crawling up out of her lava-filled footsteps. The shape of her body seemed to waver between the fully human and distinctly other, occasionally blurring between the lines as the elements danced.

  
Arthur stood in front of Molly, his face twisted with an inner turmoil. “Please, Hermione. Please. Be merciful? I cannot speak for her, only for myself, but I deeply regret what has been done to force your hand, and she’s always been so protective of our children. I know that doesn’t make it right— but I beg you not to take away the only mother our children have.”

  
Hermione slowly stopped her advance, her face frozen somewhere in-between rage and sympathy.

  
A hand pressed against Hermione’s shoulder. “Apprentice.”

  
Hermione’s eyes flickered and she looked up at him. “Master?”

  
“She’s not worth it,” he said quietly. “I am fine. Everything we care about is fine.” He was propped up between two Unspeakables, but his familiar gaze was as it always was. That alone brought her comfort.

  
Hermione closed her eyes, taking in a long, cleansing breath and letting it out. “Yes, Master,” she said, and the stinging lizards and unnervingly large budgie-bees disappeared as if they had never been there. The Volcanic Hounds rubbed up against her before vanishing into the floor, and the Dementors lingered.

  
Hermione touched each one, leaning in to their twisted, gnarled hands and giving them a hug around the waist before they floated away.

  
Fenrir took Hermione’s hand in his mouth and chewed slightly to get her attention.  
Hermione soothed his ears and smiled.

  
“Mrs Molly Weasley,” Amelia said sternly as an Auror grasped her firmly by the upper arm. “We have some questions for you. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in Wizengamot. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  
Arthur approached Amelia with a sombre expression. “I’m sorry, Amelia. I wish I could say I knew what was going on, but I don’t. I really—I have no idea.”

  
Amelia sighed. “We were pulled out of Wizengamot for this, Arthur. I’ll be honest that anything that brings us out of Wizengamot is not good for you if it isn’t life and death— and since Molly’s ill-advised actions here made it a case of life and death— at least to a young child who watched her master bleeding out in front of her… ”

  
Amelia frowned. “I cannot tell you what is going to happen once Molly is questioned, Arthur. It all depends on what she says— and what she doesn’t. She may have hurt Severus, but she could have just as easily hurt Hermione— and from what I saw on Severus when we arrived on the scene, she could have vivisected her. This is very serious, Arthur.”

  
“Oh, Molly,” Arthur moaned. “Molly, Molly, Molly.” He rubbed his thinning temples.  
He looked up to where he saw Snape watching over Hermione as she fed the fountain fish, giggling as the fish delicately nipped at her fingers.

  
How is that Snape manages to make child rearing look so ruddy simple?

  
Arthur frowned as a Dementor floated in, and Hermione smiled up at it with such trust that he wondered if it had been all too easy to be betrayed when she had such faith in those around her.

  
She grasped its finger and guided it over to the water, putting pieces of food it its hand. The spectre spread out its fingers and loosed the cargo of food into the water, and the fish immediately gobbled it up. She beamed at the Dementor and laughed, grasping its hands and putting in more food. The Dementor fed the fish again, and they hungrily devoured.

  
Hermione went back to watching the fish, her legs kicking up into the air with a carefree enthusiasm. “Master?”

  
“Hn?”

  
“If you mix Margoni’s base with PepperUp, will the resulting reaction increase the effect of the PepperUp or cause the potion to become too alkaline and destroy both effects?”

  
“Margoni’s base is was made for salves and topical tinctures. Mixing it with PepperUp would make a highly-energised salve that would not necessarily sink in through the wound or skin to be effective.”

  
Hermione pondered for a while. “So, I would use Woodward’s base instead.”

  
“Yes.”

  
Hermione beamed. “Thank you, Master!”  
Severus stood. “We must report to Amelia to be poked and prodded. I believe I have promised not to overdo it.”

  
Hermione seemed to pout, but she smiled again soon after. “Yes, Master.”

  
She hopped off the edge of the fountain and waited for Snape to stand up. He started walking away, and she took her place beside him— the Dementor following behind as it left a trail of Hoarfrost in its wake.

  
Arthur hung his head, wondering if there was any salvaging the mess his family had dug itself into.

* * *

* * *

 

_**Know-It-All Dementor Lover Attacks Old Pureblood Family** _   
_Muggleborn know-it-all showed her face in the Ministry Atrium today, attacking none other than Mrs Molly Prewett Weasley, wife of Arthur and mother of Bill, Charlie, Percival, Fred, George, Ronald, and Ginevra, and trusted member of the pureblood Weasley family._   
_Molly Weasley, tears in her eyes as she plead her case to the unemotional witch, begged for Hermione Granger to take pity on her innocent, weak, cruelly manipulated, impressionable young daughter, Ginevra Weasley. Her daughter, peer pressured into performing certain tasks to avoid being bullied herself, was set to suffer the shameful injustice of more than a month’s worth of grueling detentions if Hermione Granger didn’t accept her heartfelt apology._   
_But heartless Hermione Granger not only refused to speak with Ginevra Weasley, she forced the poor girl’s parents to meet her in the Ministry only to turn them down in public._   
_Molly Weasley, understandably emotional and distraught over such painful inconsideration for her innocent daughter’s plight, succumbed to temporary insanity and tried to use a spell to attempt to stop Hermione Granger from walking away from her, only her state of emotional instability at the time warped her spell and gave notorious ex-teacher Severus Snape a few completely non-fatal cuts to his person._   
_The Granger girl completely blew off the handle and summoned a virtual stormcloud of terrifying Dark magic illusions to torment Mrs Weasley for having supposedly been “unreasonable.” Illusions you say?_   
_Yes, apparently the little Dark witch in training has developed a fascination with an entire host of imaginary creatures and has been working on creating convincing illusions to scare innocent law-abiding citizens into doing whatever she so desires._   
_According to ex-colleague, Sybill Trelawney, “Severus Snape would never have left Hogwarts if it wasn’t for that unseeing little goodie-goodie who obviously has no real talent.”_   
_Well, I don’t know about you, but anyone who conjures up fake Dementors and a variety of other purely imaginary monsters is someone we need kept far away from Hogwarts and our innocent children!_   
_The Wizengamot is supposed to meet this Friday on the fate of Molly Weasley. I recommend that everyone attend this farce to protest this unconscionable humiliation of a good witch who has obviously been put through the ringer by a twisted and manipulative Muggleborn wanna-be witch._

* * *

Rita smiled as she listened to the people gossiping about the little trollop who had somehow wrapped herself around the man everyone knew was an evil Dark Wizard. She loved how easy it was to turn the masses against people who richly deserved to have their cages rattled.

  
Normally, she would have much preferred to torment Snape himself, but torturing his precious little apprentice was just as good.  
She wanted to dig up even more juicy tidbits on that little Dark witch wannabe, but somehow she kept ending up in the very boring waiting room. Apparently too many people had to wait, and it was so terribly frustrating.

  
Rita finally found someone on the move heading deeper into the Ministry, at long last, and she latched onto the man’s sleeve, hiding in the folds of fabric. The Ministry was so terribly annoying to navigate. It was a treasure trove of dirt and story ideas, but most of the people she had dirt on she’d already gotten under her thumb after witnessing their after (and during) hours liaisons, plots, and dirty little secrets. It was how, even after writing the most embarrassing things to people, she could still escape being brought up on charges. Too many people feared what she might say if they confronted her.

  
Now, this Granger chit—

  
Rita was determined to get more dirt on her and finally get her hooks into Snape and make him writhe. He never had the right amount of respect for her power over everyone, least of all him. She would prove that she could make his life miserable, and she would enjoy it.

  
There she was!

  
The stupid girl was sitting in the Slapping Peach grove. A spotted kitten was in her lap of some indeterminate feline species— she was never good at telling one feline from another.

  
The Slapping Peach tree was hanging fruit just out of the kitten’s reach, and the girl was laughing as the kitten leapt up to try and grasp the fruit only to get a face full of leaves.

  
The girl had a basket next to her, and ever so often the tree seemed to stupidly lower branches too close to her, and she just picked the peaches right off the tree. Ever so often she’d cuddle the kitten and rub it under the chin, and it would wiggle its spotted butt and playfully pounce her hands.

  
Rita tried to get a little closer, but that stupid tree—!

  
SMACK!

  
The tree sent her tumbling into the grass.  
Damn if that stupid tree wasn’t like the Whomping Willow.

  
The girl stood up and proved her stupidity by hugging the tree. Who did that? She held up the kitten to the tree, and the kitten pawed at a branch playfully. The tree rustled.

  
“Ah there you are Apprentice Granger,” an old woman said as she trundled into the groove with a watering can. “Did you succeed where many have failed?”

  
“I’m not sure, Master Merriweather,” the girl replied, setting down the fuzzball. “I did fill the basket though.”

  
The crone laughed. “Child, usually the only one that can get a few peaches from the grove is me. You are a true breath of fresh air.”

  
Granger beamed. _How disgustingly transparent,_ Rita thought.

  
The girl passed the basket over, and the wrinkled old woman took it. She was a witch, why didn’t she use some of Balemont’s Wrinkle Eraser or something? What a horrible-looking old woman.

  
“Would you mind watering the trees, my dear?”

  
“Of course, Master Merriweather,” the girl gushed, taking the watering can. She wandered through the grove, watering each tree as the older woman sat down at a table and sorted through the basket of fresh-picked peaches.

  
By the time the little swot came back, Merriweather had sorted them all by size.

“Do you remember what I said about slapping peaches?”

  
“Smaller are sweeter,” the know-it-all answered.

  
“Yes, very good. And do you remember what it makes best?”

  
“Sweet tea and sympathy,” the chit answered. _What a disgustingly arrogant little bi—_

  
Merriweather smiled. “Would you like to gather some honey from our new friends, the budgie-bees?”

  
Hermione bounced on her heels. “They were busy yesterday, but they said today they would have enough to share.”

  
“Excellent, my dear. Why don’t you go check on them and bring back what they can spare?”

  
“Okay, Master Merriweather!”

  
The young witch bounced off with the spotted kitten in hot pursuit.

  
Rita pondered finding whatever food bowl she had for the dumb beast and spiking it with something to make the girl cry. She buzzed over to crawl into the colourful fruit on top of the woman’s gaudy hat. This should be a safe enough place for now, she thought.

  
She’d just settled in between some grapes and an apple when the girl came bouncing back. She had a giant bee perched on her shoulder as she carried a bucket filled with honeycombs. Amber ambrosia dripped from the combs— and unlike other bee-products, it was absolutely pristine without bits of odd destris trapped in it.

  
“Oh, my dear! That’s a beautiful set of combs you have there, Hermione,” Merriweather gushed. She took them with a smile. “Shall we make some sweet slapping peach tea for the festival tonight?”

  
Hermione beamed. “Okay!”

  
“Okay, fetch the drink barrel, and we’ll get started.”

  
Hermione came back with a large barrel— or rather she walked back and the wolfen beast rolled it over with his head.

  
Werewolf, Rita mentally scoffed. Utterly preposterous. That’s just some trick beast made out to be a werewolf because its muzzle is so dinky.

  
They sat together chopping the peaches up into small bits and throwing them into the barrel, carefully setting aside the seeds in a separate pile.

  
Merriweather pulled out a tin and opened it, measuring out enough of the mixture inside to fill a cloth bag. She tossed it into the barrel. “Now, drop a few of the combs in, that’s a girl. Perfect.”

  
“Now, the beauty of slapping peaches mixed with our special bee honey is that it makes a fantastic drink in just a few hours. If we let it sit for a month, it’d be a spectacular honey mead, but we wouldn’t want everyone getting drunk at the festival, now would we?”

  
Hermione smiled as Fenrir licked his chops, eyeing the peach closest to him with avid interest.

  
“May I?” Hermione asked.

  
Merriweather nodded. “Go ahead, just take care to mind the seed, please.”

  
Hermione cut the fruit carefully, extracting the seed for the pile before passing the fruit to Fenrir. He inhaled it into his mouth and licked his chops, tail wagging.

  
“You’re like a vacuum,” Hermione said with a laugh.

  
The werewolf tilted his head and wagged his tail.

  
“Well, I think it’s time we took this down to the festival and then you can tell your master that I did not force you to do everything at wand point, hrm?”

  
Hermione grinned. “Yes, Master Merriweather.”

  
Hermione took the basket of seeds and patted Fenrir on the head. “Would you mind carrying these down for us?”

  
Fenrir whuffled, snuffling her hands and opening his mouth for the basket handle. Hermione lay the basket into his mouth, and he clenched his teeth around it, tail wagging.

  
The bright blue and white bee on her shoulder buzzed to get her attention.  
“Oh!” Hermione said. “I’m so sorry, I forgot.” She walked over to one of the large slapping peach blossoms and stroked its branch. The tree lowered the branch and unfurled the blossoms, dripping with waiting nectar. The bee buzzed loudly and promptly dove into one blossom, getting pollen all over itself as it took in the nectar. She then walked over to another tree and did the same, and the bee repeated its actions, happily pollinating the other tree from blossom to blossom. Laden with precious nectar, the bee could barely fly, and Hermione cupped it in her hands with a smile. “Silly thing. Overdid it, yeah?”

  
The bee buzzed, unapologetic for its sad state of nectar blissful overload. She carried it over to the entrance of the hive, setting the worker down by the soldiers. Hermione held out her fingers, still wet with nectar from helping the drone saturate itself, and the soldiers gratefully lapped up the precious nectar and pollen from her fingertips.

  
“Thank you for the extra combs today,” Hermione said.

  
The bees cleaned her fingers, pausing to groom themselves clean before having another go at it. Hermione chuckled and waited until the bees were done, and she pulled her hand away. “Most people don’t think bees have soldiers,” she said with a smile. “You’re rebels keeping your honey safe.”

  
The soldier bees wiggled their abdomens as they did a little dance in seemingly random patterns in response.

  
“You’re welcome.”

  
Hermione walked back to where Merriweather was standing.

  
“Ready to go?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Excellent. Off we go then.”

  
Rita brooded as they walked deeper into the Ministry. The girl seemed to have charms over the insects too, and she wondered what kind of insidious Dark Magic she wielded that bent these adults who should see her as a threat into nurturing her like some prized protegé. Or maybe— the Ministry could be breeding these strange insects for nefarious purposes. That would make a really good spin for the Daily Prophet.  
After passing through quite a few security checkpoints. Rita was convinced she was finally on the right track for a great story.  
They arrived at a large arboretum and indoor lake that spanned far greater than what Rita had ever seen before. There was a falls in the distance, and had it been outside the Ministry, she would have said it would have commanded a high price to live there.  
Funnelling off Ministry funds for pointless landscaping projects, she thought. That was another angle she could use.

  
Large groups of important-looking individuals mingled together under the trees, and others, dressed in casual robes, chatted around the lake.

  
Rita looked up to see an enchanted sky not unlike the one she remembered from Hogwarts’ Great Hall. More time and money spent on even more useless things, she thought. Besides, what good is having something like this hidden behind countless checkpoints so no one else can see them?

Harrumph.

  
Rita flew over to a new perch, determined to get in the middle of things and find something really juicy that she could use. She heard some familiar voices—

  
“I don’t know Kingsley,” a man said as he rubbed a hand over his balding head. “I’m sure you know your Auror stuff, but there has to be a better way than causing a massive panic in Britain that some rampaging psychopath is going to attack them in broad daylight.”

  
Kingsley frowned, his dark brows knitting together. “And you would choose to leave people wholly ignorant instead, Edwards?”

  
“Well, no, of course,” Edwards sputtered. “I’m just saying that needless paranoia would hurt the state of affairs.”

  
“The Ministry’s view is that the Dark Lord is but a myth,” the younger wizard said with a scowl.

  
“Come, now, Kingsley,” the other man said. “The Dark Lord died by his own hand. This pointless fear-mongering only makes for paranoid people and discontent when there is no reason to be. Just because some person had some weird dark cloud spew out of his arm does not mean the Dark Lord is set to come back to life. It’s all a bunch of unsubstantiated rumours. Silly theatrics.”

  
“You cannot tell me that man writhing in agony on the ground as darkness spews from the wounds on his arm was nothing more than happenstance and theatrics, Edwards,” Kingsley said.

  
Edwards shook his head. “Kings, I know you mean well, but do you seriously expect people to believe that some wisp of a girl just happened to purge something as deeply Dark as a Dark Mark and then saunter off like nothing happened? I just don’t believe it.”

  
Edwards curled his lip as he looked at the young girl standing beside a dour-looking man whose hair hung about his face like oiled cords. His hands, delicate as a pianist’s fingers, drummed against his crossed arms as he listened to something a scowling man with a wildly spastic eye was saying.

  
“Moody isn’t believing it.”

  
“Alastor doesn’t believe the sun rises or falls until he actually sees it rise or fall,” Kingsley replied. “That doesn’t make it impossible.”  
Edwards scowled, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “I don’t approve of him being here,” he said, eyeing Snape with a critical eye.

  
“You will not find a finer potioneer anywhere in the world,” Kingsley said. “His knowledge of the intricate weave of spellcraft is unparallelled.”

  
“Dark magic, you mean.”

  
“Grey is grey, Edwards,” Kingsley replied. “As I recall your family did a lot of… interesting spellwork before the Ministry took a stand against what would in time be called Dark magic.”

  
Edwards wrinkled his nose. “Family magic is different.”

  
“Is it?” Kingsley didn’t wait for an answer because an adorable spotted cub had latched onto his boot. “Hello there.”

  
Mrowl!

  
The cub laid on its back and batted and chewed on his boot.

  
“There you are, you naughty boy,” Hermione came and picked the cub up. He mrowled and wriggled and licked under her jaw before placing one large paw on her face. Hermione giggled and smiled. “Sorry, Auror Shacklebolt.”

  
“Who do you have here, Apprentice Granger?”

  
“This is Zorion,” Hermione said. “My master says he’s entirely too happy.”

  
Shacklebolt laughed. “Severus thinks everyone is too happy, I think.”

  
Hermione made a face and then realised he was joking.

  
“Would you like to hold him?”

  
“Would he allow it?”

  
“Oh! Of course. And he knows better than to breathe yuck in people’s faces.” She handed the cub to Shacklebolt.

  
Kingsley stroked the Nundu cub with pleasure, causing Zorion to puff up like a bottle brush and flop on his back in Kingsley’s arms. “Well, aren’t you adorable, my young friend?”

  
A buzzing caught the cub’s attention and suddenly one paw reached out and smacked a bug out of the air with one swat. The cub snapped his teeth around the tasty intruder, his baby teeth crunching noisily.

  
Shacklebolt grinned at the cub, massaging its head fondly. “More than a hundred wizards to take you out— but I’m thinking you’d just charm them over completely, hrm?”

  
Zorion chirp-mrowled, thumping a clawless paw against Kingsley’s face. He began to rub his cheek against the wizard when a startled insect dove down into Kingsley’s robes. The cub bat, bat, batted the budge on Kingsley’s robes as Kingsley writhed and tried to dislodge bothersome the robe-invader.

  
“Kingsley, what are you doing?”

  
“I’ve got a—” Kingsley hopped around. “GAH!” He moved the very curious cub away from his body as the insect had made its way down to places where he definitely did not need Nundu paws, claws, or any other things that might potentially damage his vulnerable privates. He placed the cub down on the ground as he did a frantic amount of shimmy-stomping—

  
Snape had arrived along with Moody, attracted to the uncharacteristic hopping and gesticulating of one Kingsley Shacklebolt.

  
“What the—” Moody barked. “What’s going on here, Kingsley?”

  
The Auror’s magical eye scanned Kingsley wildly, and then he scowled as he pointed his wand at Shacklebolt.

  
“What are you DOING?!” Edwards cried, standing in the way.

  
Snape sneered at Edwards, his face twisted into an expression usually reserved for the likes of Neville Longbottom, and Edwards staggered out of the way with instinctive recoil.

  
Moody spat out “Stupefy Insectum,” his wand flaring as a red beam zapped Kingsley’s left leg.

  
Snape quickly moved Hermione out of the way, tugging her behind him and then standing in front of her as he pulled his own wand as well. Others were coming to investigate, drawn by the sudden kerfuffle.  
Moody cursed, having missed his aim, and a pale blond-colored Goldsmith beetle went shooting out of Kingsley’s trouser leg and took to the air.

  
THUMP!

  
One highly-excited Nundu cub smacked the beetle down with one claws-out paw just before its many, sharp kitten teeth crunched down upon it.

  
There was a loud, shrill, feminine shriek as the Nundu cub went flying off in a random direction. The poor, startled cub landed with a bounce and skid, puffing out a small cloud of distress, and Severus had immediately slammed a shield down over it as Hermione rushed to pick him up. The cub immediately spat out what his teeth had sunk into, choosing cuddles over being bounced around.

  
Two beetle legs lay forgotten on the ground where the cub had been— at least until they jerked around like beads of oil on a hot skillet. They expanded, twisted, and jerked into the lost leg and arm of a woman.

  
A few bystanders screamed while others yelled. Some wizards shielded their witches, while some witches shielded their wizards— all of them having been treated to the very grisly sight of one Rita Skeeter bleeding out as her right arm and left leg were very much missing.

  
Moody was immediately in action, sending out a Patronus, and Shacklebolt had one going at the same time. Healers in lime green robes appeared almost immediately, rushing in, wands waving and making the crowds part for their passing.

  
“Was this a Spliching?” one of the healers asked.

  
“Animagus beetle chomped on by a feline,” Moody replied.

  
“Do we have the limbs?”

  
“Here, Adept,” another healer said.

  
“Create the sterile field,” another healer said.

  
“On it,” the other healer said.

  
The senior healer did some frantic wand movements. “Blood replenishing, now!”

  
A flask was put in her hands, and she poured it down Rita’s throat.

  
“We need to slow the bleeding, but we need to replenish the blood— something is— was she somehow poisoned?”

  
“Nundu cub,” Kingsley inserted.

  
“Those aren’t poisonous, but it does explain the lack of coagulation,” the Adept replied. “Was she exposed to anything previously?”

  
“No idea.”

  
Rita was going into convulsions, pink foam forming around her mouth.

  
“We need a Legilimens! NOW! We need to know everywhere this woman was!

Emergency clearance 45-Z-22. I don’t care who does it. Someone do it, now!”

  
An elderly witch stepped up. “I’ll do it, Freesia.”

  
“Excellent,” Adept Freesia barked. “Thank you, Winifred.”

  
The elder witch pointed her wand at Rita. “Legilimens!”

  
There was a hushed silence save for the convulsing Rita, and Winifred jerked back out of the link. “She’s been everywhere in this damn Ministry short of the DoM in the last few hours, but she hid in the botanical gardens on level five for most of that time.”

  
“Neurotoxic pollens and moulds in there. Perfectly safe for humans— not for insects. Gods only knows what it does for beetle Animagi. Merlin, save me from sodding idiots,” Freesia cursed. She cast a few spells. “Martin, give her the anti-toxin potion. Charles, get that bloody leg back on. Carol, the arm.”

  
The healers swarmed over Rita.

  
“She’s still bleeding— we need coagulants, stat!”

  
“Has the toxin cleared?”

  
“Yes, Adept.”

  
“Great, so she’s been exposed too long. Some of these effects are lingering. Carol, how is the arm?”

  
“Attached, Adept, but—”

  
“But?”

  
“The flesh isn’t mending together well either.”

  
“Use the anti-fungals. Charles, make her drink the anti-venom and toxin purgative!”  
The other healer forced the potion to Rita’s lips, and her body shook even more as a sickly fluid came oozing out of her pores.

  
“It’s working! More blood replenisher. Carol, I need you on the liver. She’s probably going into failure. Charles, the spleen. I’ll get the fluids into her before she has too many blood factors concentrating— there! She’s stabilising. Keep doing what you’re doing!”  
Rita’s body finally stopped shaking.

  
“Prepare for side-along to Mungos!”

  
“Ready.”

  
“Ready!”

  
“Ready!”

  
“And three, two, one—”

  
CRACK!

  
The team of healers and Rita Skeeter disappeared simultaneously in the Apparate.

  
Shacklebolt looked Moody squarely in the eye. “I’m going to go shower in boiling hot water now.”

  
Moody grunted and nodded. “Don’t blame ye a bit, laddie.”

  
Snape thrust a largish blue vial into Shacklebolt’s hands.

  
Kingsley raised a brow.

  
“My own Magical Mishap Solvent,” he said. “It will scrub away any… residual anything she may have left on your person.”

  
Kingsley nodded gratefully. “Thank you, Severus.”

  
Moody’s smile was not kind as he extracted memories into a vial. “I’ve been wanting to nail that witch to a wall for many, many years.”

  
“Next time you want some random vagabond caught, Alastor, kindly send them to someone else’s crotch,” Kingsley muttered as he stormed away to scrub himself raw.

  
Zorion mewled.

  
Hermione hugged him tight against her body.

  
“I quite agree,” Snape said, curling his lip.  
Moody gave Snape an appraising stare. He then turned his gaze to Hermione, who was calming the cub in her arms with soothing pets and nuzzles. “I would like to continue our— discussion after this mess with Skeeter is completed.”

  
Snape, whose eyes seemed to swallow all the light, nodded curtly.

  
“And you, lassie,” Moody said.

  
Hermione looked at the old Auror somewhat suspiciously.

  
“Be sure to give that furry little bug-hunter a right fine dinner tonight.”  
Hermione brightened. “Yes, sir.”

  
Moody smiled at her, and Hermione seemed to glow with her happiness.

  
Whispers turned to avid conversation around them, all of them forgetting about the black cloud that had come from Snape’s arm that morning in favour of the more immediate reveal of Rita Skeeter, illegal beetle Animagus. Many speculated on what she had seen, where she had been, and who she had dirt on.

  
“Master?”

  
“Yes, Apprentice?”

  
“Do you think Auror Shacklebolt will want a cub of his own?”

  
Snape looked down at her, his hair falling around his face. “I think there is nothing wrong with Kingsley that a few steaming hot showers and an Obliviate won’t fix.”

  
Hermione hugged Zorion and rubbed his velvety ears. “That seems a bit extreme,” she said softly.

  
“In this case, nothing short of necessary,” he replied. “Come, there are others Amelia wishes for us to speak to.”

  
Hermione nodded. “Yes, Master.”

* * *

 

Alastor’s infamous “mad” eye was strangely unmoving as the Scottish wizard sat back in the chair. “I’ll admit, lad, I never thought I’d see the day when you’d take an apprentice or that the Mark could ever leave anyone. That was the Darkest magic we could see inflicting on someone— that taint living under the skin, even after his supposed death.”

  
“He had always said that he had ways in which to ensure he would not remain dead,” Severus said.

  
“That taint acted like the old, forbidden magicks, from long before now. Horcruxes they called them. When a person shattered their soul and forced a piece of it into a vessel— but those have always been non-living things. To see it come from a living person— that is even darker magic than—” Moody shook his head. “I canna even wrap my mind on something so terrible.”

  
Snape frowned, his hand rubbing his arm. “Many of us— those that were Marked— believed it to be a living thing, not because it moved and burned, but because it seemed to writhe under the skin like feeling worms crawl. Later, it burned. We thought it was him reminding us who we had sworn allegiance to, but—”

  
Snape looked to where Hermione was studying her bookwork, surrounded by cubs, pups, beasts, Dementors, and one fluffy spider perched on her head as she peered down at the book too. “I think each time he used it, he pushed a little more of himself into it, and it started to take away from him and place it in us.”

  
Moody scowled, his hands rubbing against ears. “That could explain the less than human characteristics you described. If that is any indicator, if he does resurrect himself, there could be rather drastic signs of inhumanity— physically.”

  
Moody’s eyebrows raised as a bunch of Monstrous Book of Monsters bounce-squeaked-growled toward Hermione and cuddled up next to her. “Is there anything she isn’t friends with?”

  
“Most humans,” Snape answered dryly.

“Humans have this irritating habit of presuming she’s evil. Those that don’t think so shortly after the first Dementor sighting. Save the DoM— but even they had a hard time wrapping their heads around the Dementors.”

  
Moody, watching Hermione sit in one Dementor’s lap as she tried to get comfortable, snuggled into its arms as she kept reading her book. “I will admit to a certain amount of disbelief,” he said. “Seeing it up close though— you can tell they really care for the lass.”

  
Moody’s eyes widened. “I would hate to see what happens if she goes near Azkaban. She’d take the whole lot of them with her.”  
Snape’s eyebrows shot into his hair.

“Fortunately, we are not plotting any picnics to Azkaban anytime soon.”

  
“No plans to visit the rat?”

  
Snape’s eyes darkened. “I didn’t visit Black, so I’m not sure why you’d suspect me of visiting Pettigrew.”

  
Alastor shrugged. “I’d be gloating, myself. I’ll admit.”

  
Snape seemed to look at Moody with a different light and grunted, giving a curt nod.

  
“Seems I’ve been barking up the wrong tree,” Moody confessed, shrugging his shoulders as he let out a heavy sigh. “Black and Potter were as thick as thieves when they were Aurors, but they were both adamant that you were guilty of every horror they saw out there. Add that to my earlier suspicions at your trial that you were just playing us all, Dumbledore especially, as fools— seems it takes a young slip of a girl and her menagerie to get the sense knocked into me that appearances can be completely deceiving.”

  
A Monstrous Book of Monsters cuddled up to Moody’s boot, growl-purring.

  
Moody shook his head. “It must be a relief to have it gone when all signs pointed to it being a forever sort of thing.”

  
“My mark of damnation,” Snape said, instinctively rubbing his arm. “My great shame of stupid decisions made in the fucked-up drama of my teenage years.”

  
“You know the truth about what they did to you came out in the Wizengamot,” Moody said.

  
Snape startled. “What?”

  
“I mean, you gave back to them often time, from what we saw in the memories, but— Black’s memories of a lot of their plannings, plottings, and so-called-mischief and “giving you what you deserved”, including encouraging the then-Miss Evans that you were a liar and a Death Eater— it all came out while they were extracting the memories for the night of the Muggle murders.”

  
Snape turned his head away to stare at something across the room, his jaw twitching. “It was because of her unforgiveness that I drunkenly went to that very special party and woke up with a new tattoo.” He sighed, wincing in remembered pain. “Then I found out it was an all-in sort of deal that my drunken sod-self had gotten me into— and I was to blame for my stupid lack of control. I vowed then that no one would get inside my mind again, that I would never lose control again, that I would be in charge of my own destiny.”

  
Snape clenched his fists. “It was total rubbish. I only traded one master for another, and then I ended up with two— three if you could the guilt over the death of Lily, whom after all my grovelling and begging, died anyway.” His lip curled. “At least I know now it was their choice to trust Pettigrew that sealed her fate. Not that it makes my guilt over my own part of it all any less bitter.”

  
“She seems like quite the young lass,” Moody said, watching Hermione set down her book to train the pups to sit and balance a biscuit on their muzzles. The mother Volcanic Nightmare Hound sat nearby, tail swishing as she watched her pups in between chewing on a large bone as she licked and gnawed the flesh off it.

  
“She’s changed quite a bit since her awakening to this new aspect of her— talents. We were much at odds before this. Different houses, different worlds perhaps. But— we seem to have come to an understanding I did not expect. She was wounded, hurt. It was something I was intimately familiar with, that strange betrayal that can only come from those you thought you knew only to realise you do not.”

  
Alastor grunted. “This is a long time in coming, Severus, but—” He looked to where the Nundu cubs were pouncing the Nightmare pups while Hermione giggled over her lesson books. “I feel like there is hope in the word again, and I—”  
Moody closed his good eye. “I’m glad we’re on the same side and the same page for once.”

  
The old Auror put out his hand— gleaming like some beacon in the stormy night, liable to disappear at a moment’s notice.  
Snape slowly clasped Moody’s hand in is.

“As am I, Alastor.”

  
Blodwyn appeared with a PIFFing noise, somehow balancing a tray of proper Scottish tea and shortbread fingers.

“Excellent! Snacks for you!”

  
The two wizards blinked as the arachnid set down the tray and popped out of existence again, reappearing on top of Hermione’s head across the room.

  
Moody stroked his hair. “That came out of your arm, eh?”

  
“I stopped asking questions after the cloud of screaming Dark Lord vapour,” Severus said.

  
Alastor wrinkled his nose. “Wise, probably,” he said, picking up a shortbread and chewing on it. “My compliments to the spider chef.”

  
The two clinked their tea cups together in solidarity.

* * *

  
A/N: Hey all, I’m going on a vacation here for the next week(ish), so I will not be writing. I hope you enjoyed chapter 2.I posted this via mobile for ao3 because I forgot to while I was at home. Sorry if the formatting sucks.

 


	3. Brewing Up Trouble

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard, and Hollowg1rl

 **A/N:** Uhhh... crap where did my last month go

* * *

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

**Chapter Three**

_There is no darkness but ignorance._

William Shakespeare

Hermione stirred the mixture in her cauldron very carefully, adding a sprinkle of crushed snakeweed leaves from one hand and using the rod with the other. She watched it fizzle and burble before she added a small measure of aloe juice. Her face scrunched up in thought as she stared intently at the gently bubbling potion.

The Dementor continued to hold the cauldron, hovering silently. She sat in the other's lap, watching the potion bubble and swirl. She dipped in her stirring rod and went clockwise, closing her eyes to help her focus on the  _feel_ of the potion. Her hand went forward, back, forward a little, and then just a bit back again to adjust. She stopped and pulled the rod out, opening her eyes. The pot burbled once, twice, and on the third one she slowly added seven drops of honeywater, just as it popped.

Hermione stirred it backwards just in time to see the liquid turn a shimmering gold, then silver, then azure. Tiny gold bubbles popped at the surface. She smiled. "Okay! You can remove your hands now."

The other Dementor did and she touched his hands, stroking them with affection. "Thank you very much!"

The Dementor engulfed her with a hug, covering her with his robes as he lifted her to her feet to give her a proper embrace. She smiled at the pair of Dementors as she put the cauldron on the table.

A flash of black wool whooshed by her, and Hermione smiled as her master walked in to check her work. She stood silently as he peered into the cauldron, wafted the scent, examined the texture, and watched how the liquid dripped smoothly from the ladle. He watched as the bubbles rose and popped, even listening to the faint sound they made when they did.

Blodwyn peered over his shoulder, watching, having fastened herself securely to his collar with a strand of silk.

"The texture, scent, and consistency seems perfectly on track," he said. "We will have to test it to find out if it works the way we were expecting."

Hermione nodded.

"You did well with the brewing," he said. "It took a few adjustments to get the texture right, but you did not add anything until it was, and that is what matters. Your use of whippoorwill feather to counter the heavy texture was correct, but the use of the iron filings instead of the ore is what kept you trying to adjust the turns so much. The result, however, did exactly it was supposed to, even with the added time. We will have to allow it to sit for a few hours before it is stable enough to decant."

Hermione smiled. "Yes. Thank you, master!"

Snape's lip twitched slightly, but Hermione didn't pay it any mind.

"Please go feed your charges before they decide to eat each other."

Hermione smiled and nodded, rushing off, the Dementors following her like bodyguards.

Snape ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

Blodwyn bounced on his shoulder.  _"She did good, right?_ "

Snape sniffed. "She did."

_"Aren't you going to congratulate her?"_

Severus frowned. "I did."

The Mark Spider shifted all of her eyes to peer at him.  _"You really need to work on your delivery system."_

* * *

Amelia found Hermione half-buried alive in books, tomes, and scrolls as the sound of a frantic quill scratching away came from deep within the stacks. "Hermione?"

A Dementor rose up from the pile of books, pulling Hermione up and over them so she stood on both feet.

"Oh! Hello, Madam Bones!"

"Hello, my dear. What are you studying today?"

"Master Kane bet my master that I couldn't find out how to stop the Chizpurfles from invading the offices upstairs," Hermione explained.

"Oh, up in the Ministry offices?" Amelia looked somewhat amused. "They've been trying to get rid of them for quite a while now."

Hermione pointed to one text. "They don't like cold at all."

Amelia tilted her head. "Oh? Would you like to show me?"

"You would—?" Hermione gasped.

"Of course I would take you up there to show me."

Hermione brightened. "I have a plan!"

Amelia held out her hand. "I cannot  _wait_ to see what you have in mind."

Hermione took Amelia's hand eagerly. "Okay!"

* * *

Hermione had to admit, even if it was just to herself, that her move to Snape's domain and into the DoM had opened a strange new world of freedom, acceptance, and openness. She felt… younger. She even acted younger— frolicking and revelling in simpler pleasures she hadn't allowed herself when she had first come to Hogwarts. She had been far too busy just trying to prove herself.

Now, as she stood in the middle of the Ministry administrative offices, surrounded in a black cloud of floating Dementors, she felt their brushes against her, their bodies providing a comforting warmth even as the air around them frosted over with hoarfrost and even froze the contents of the mugs that had been left on the desks.

The largest Dementor, whom she thought of as Grandfather, stayed close by her side, his gnarled hand wrapped snugly around her waist in a protective gesture. She peeked out over his robes, looking up at him with amusement. Whether he was the oldest or just the largest, Hermione didn't know, and no books existed that seemed to know anything other than "Dementors were Dark, evil, soul-sucking fiends that consumed all of the happiest memories within their prey."

Grandfather didn't seem like an evil being— but just how they fed themselves, she wasn't entirely sure. Hermione had guessed— even asked— but none of them seemed to be able to tell her anything but they weren't hungry. So, apparently it wasn't a concern until it was a concern. When that was— she had  _no_ idea.

The other Dementors drifted in and out, touching her as their base camp as they spread their frozen influence around the offices. All of them had been cleared out as a precaution— or rather word had been sent to leave if they didn't want to come face to face with a Dementor— and everyone had promptly taken the afternoon off to be anywhere but there. Amelia had talked a few of them out of rushing in to rescue "the poor, addled child", and only one person had gotten so far as to meet Hermione's entourage as she kindly guided each one to a new place in the room. That one had left babbling things about evil masked as children taking over the Ministry.

Amelia hadn't been amused in the slightest.

Hermione looked up and saw the dark shadow of her master standing beside Amelia, and she found no small irony in the fact that she seemed to prefer the comfort of Dementors and the dour, black-clad wizard over those she should have called her peers. She found herself smiling to herself. Dementors made very loyal friends, protecting her like something precious, and she found that comforting. To feel that she was worth protecting or fighting for felt safe.

Snape, she realised, rarely wasn't paying attention to her, even when she figured she was performing mundane, everyday, utterly boring tasks. The exception seemed to be when he himself was brewing something complex that required his full attention.

Usually that something was  _her_ — or so it seemed.

Yet, she didn't really find that as horrible as her ex-Gryffindor fellows would have. They would have had the most awful nightmares if Snape had been hovering around them as much as he did as her master. She rather liked knowing he was there making sure she didn't blow herself up by accidentally adding something the wrong time or stirring the wrong way. He was far less snappy and much more practical outside of Hogwarts— admittedly far less horrible from the moment he had accepted her as his apprentice. Strictness she could handle. Rules were rules. Being chewed out over random contradictory rules, however— she didn't miss that at  _all_.

As she and Grandfather walked the offices together, the plague of marauding Chizpurfles seemed to move as a dirty-looking cloud from place to place. After many back and forth waves, repositionings of her Dementor friends, and frustrating gaps where warmth protected the escapees from being frozen, all of the Chizpurfles flooded under the door to one particularly large corner office and could not leave. The Dementors floated around the room in a ring, inside and outside, and even under and over.

Hermione eyed the door with suspicion, wondering why a bunch of Chizpurfles would all try to make for one room above all others. They were enthusiastic magic eaters that liked to munch on wands and magical objects, artefacts, and—

"Madam Bones? Master?"

The pair quickly walked over to her as the wall of Dementors moved.

"Yes?"

"Do you maybe store magical artefacts in this room?"

"No, that leads to Madam Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge's personal office," Amelia answered.

"Do they collect magical things? Undersecretaries?"

"How many Chizpurfles went in there?"

"A large wave of them— all that weren't frozen solid and killed went in there— in that crack under the door."

Amelia and Severus exchanged significant glances.

Amelia sent her falcon Patronus zinging off out of the offices. "I'll bring in Alastor. We'll need an official warrant to break down those wards."

Just as Amelia and Severus guided Hermione back from the door, the door suddenly flew open as a shockingly shrill shriek came from the other side of the doorway.

 _ **"Get away from my kittens!"**_  a voice yelled. There was a thump, a crash, and the sounds of tortured kittens. "No! Get away from that draw-"

_**KaTHOOOMMMM!** _

A heavy cloud of Chizpurfles flew out of the door, a large amount of ornate quills suspended mid-air in their gathering. Some of the quills poofed into so much dust as all their magic was eaten away, but the majority remained as the frozen auras of the Dementors closed in, freezing the Chizpurfles and the remaining quills into one solid block of highly damning evidence.

A woman with a face that looked very much like a flesh-coloured toad stormed out of the office wearing a pink jumper and a red scowl. "What is the meaning of this!? I demand you go back to Azkaban at once! You are not allowed here at my office!"

The Dementors floated, unmoving save for their robes.

_**"Get out of here! Get out!"** _

"But Madam Undersecretary, the Chizpurfles will just—"

 _ **"You!"**_ the woman spat as she saw Hermione standing out of the way. "You are  _ **not**_ permitted here! I want you out of this office  _ **immediately!**_ "

The witch seemed to shiver, hugging and rubbing herself to keep warm.  _ **"Out! Get OUT!"**_

Grandfather stood in front of Hermione, gently pushing her back into another Dementor's arms. He glowered down at Umbridge, almost seeming to swell with fury.

There was a strange sucking in the air as the temperature dropped even more. All of the Dementors abruptly closed in, drawn to Umbridge as though she were  _very_ interesting, indeed. They all drew in breaths— the sound like a wheeze. The temperature dropped even more, and the light in the rooms slowly dimmed to a total blackness.

A minute passed before light returned with sound. One Dementor was embracing Hermione against its body as the others surrounded Dolores. The witch groaned as they flitted away, no longer interested in the weird, toadlike woman.

As Severus rushed over to check on Hermione, she frowned at the woman. "She made them hungry," she said. "They've  _never_ been so hungry before. They fed on her— twisted pleasures. Odd things. Horrible things that make me shudder inside."

Severus gently lifted her chin to look into her face. "Are you all right?"

Hermione nodded.

The Aurors had arrived, surrounding Umbridge with a loose ring.

Dolores groaned and sat up. "I'm sorry, do I know you fine people?" she asked, rubbing her head. "Why am I on the floor?"

Severus and Amelia exchanged glances as Moody's expression soured. He held in his hand one of the fallen quills. A spell had caused it to light up with bright red.

"Madam Undersecretary, you are under arrest for possession of a Dark object," Moody said. "Your office will be searched and any and all magic will be seized and searched while you are being questioned."

"I'm sorry, dear, do I even know you? Who  _is_ this Madam Undersecretary?"

Moody blinked. He gave Hermione a sidelong glance. "This is going to require a  _lot_ more tea."

Hermione swallowed hard and hid herself in Grandfather's robes. The Dementor held her to him and offered comfort.

"Not to worry," Severus said grimly. "I think, if anything, you're going to end up getting an Order of Merlin for service to the majority of the office here at the Ministry."

Hermione brightened, but she looked over to where Umbridge was and frowned. "Her head was so full of  _really_ horrible thoughts," she said.

Severus nodded grimly. "Of that, I am quite certain. The question, however, is how much was left behind when all of that was taken away?"

Amelia stood with her arms crossed. "Not much."

* * *

Alastor sat and watched the young girl watching over the happy Nightmare Hound pups as they played in the fountain, steam rising off their bodies as they were hit by the water. He kept a safe distance from the steam clouds, knowing they were as toxic as the volcanic flows as they hit seawater. Somehow, whatever bond the girl had with her charges, they gifted her immunity to their most dangerous aspects. It was as if they desired her companionship so much that each gave her the gift to truly be with them— as if the unnerving sight of her sleeping in a pile of volcanic hounds and Nundu cubs— or dementors— didn't prove that sufficiently.

The molten hound bitch would often groom Hermione over, leaving trails of molten stone over her body. It would cool rapidly and then fall off in probably the most effective skin exfoliation treatment she could get. The elder hound loved being cuddled, ear-rubbed, muzzle stroked, and even tolerated her ears being posed in various positions— provided it was Hermione doing it.

The other Aurors, Savage and Proudfoot mostly, called Hermione Babyface because of her glowing, absolutely flawless skin. Snape looked like he wanted to murder them both, but Hermione actually seemed to really enjoy having an affectionate nickname that wasn't derogatory, for once.

What really surprised him, however, was that the bond between master and apprentice was so strong that Snape himself seemed to gain a personal immunity to the molten pups and accidental Nundu disease breath to the face. While he never seemed to test this when Hermione wasn't around, it did seem to prove (at least to Alastor) that the girl felt a deep, unshakable trust for her master, and through her all of her charges. It was a lot to think upon.

As if the new lack of Dark Mark wasn't also a lot to think upon.

As if the happily dutiful Dementors floating about her just wasn't enough either.

Gods. She and her ever-growing entourage of beasts and beings were somehow managing to defy everything that was common knowledge about, well…  _everything_.

Leopards don't change their spots. That's what he'd been crowing forever, yet—

Maybe he'd been misinterpreting those spots from the very beginning.

Maybe it wasn't so easy to judge a person, thinking them easy to read whether good or bad. Perhaps, he thought, it was better to get to know Snape through his apprentice. Their conversation at the festival had been sombre and suspicious, but even Alastor couldn't deny that the Mark had left him in the most conspicuous way possible in front of a great many witnesses, right in the middle of the Ministry atrium.

Most of them had been Obliviated— but the fact remained that there  _had_ been witnesses.

And he— he had decided that guarding Snape's young apprentice was in both his best interest and hers. The last thing anyone wanted was another confrontation with Molly Weasley.

The Wizengamot had placed a restraining order on Molly and an cuff on her ankle that kept her from going within a few hundred paces of Snape, but since she had not attacked Hermione, it had no condition on that. Still, they weren't stupid, and Amelia had asked him to watch over the girl when he could— especially when any member of the Weasley family was scheduled to come to the Ministry for any reason.

Arthur wasn't included in his wife's Wizengamot-mandated anger-induced magic classes and two years of community service, and Alastor really didn't see him as being the same unstable threat as his wife, thankfully. Still— Molly  _was_ his wife, and, well, there was no telling what things married couples did behind closed doors. Alastor was worried more about what things Molly might try to pressure Arthur into, but Alastor knew Arthur had been noticeably quite concerned at the Wizengamot session. There was a good chance that Molly would find no succor in lambasting her husband to do her will for her.

Browl!

Alastor looked down to see a magma pup chewing on his bootlace, trying to make it come undone. Its molten mouth made quick work of the lace and the pup went tumbling backwards when it snapped.

The pup gave the bootlace a forlorn look of wistful longing.

Alastor sighed and mended his poor, abused lace, tying them together again so his boot didn't fall off.

"Auror Moody," Hermione greeted him. "I'm sorry, did Kai find you fascinating?"

"My bootlace."

"Oh! I hope he didn't ruin them!"

"No, lass, for once I am glad I paid extra for dragonhide boots," he said.

The girl smiled up at him, and Moody found himself captured by her sheer genuineness. Her hair was a fluffy, bushy mess, made worse by tussling around with the pups, and her teeth had a somewhat bucktoothed look that were almost overshadowed by her perfect canine fangs. All of her teeth shone like pearlescent opals of perfection despite it. The fangs though—  _that_  was new. He wondered if it was some gift from her familiars, some sort of trait of solidarity or just one more trait that made her more like "them"- accepted and approved of.

"This can help," Hermione said. She brazenly touched his wrist, and a coldness moved into his hands and arms. She picked up Kai and put him into his arms. "He likes being rubbed here."

Kai panted happily, drooling magma. Alastor cried out, flinching away with one hand as it touched his hand— but the magma cooled on his skin, flaking away and disappearing. The Auror stared with wonder. "Well, I'll be damned. What did you do to me, lass?"

"Aine calls it the blessing. It's temporary," Hermione said. "She says it's beast magic, a different flavour of what most people learn. It has to be willingly given."

"And who is Aine?" Alastor asked.

The Volcanic Nightmare bitch stretched and yawned, exposing all of her jagged, half-molten teeth as she huffed and lay her head on top of Hermione's, making it look like a two member totempole. Hermione rubbed under her chin. "This is Aine."

The volcano hound licked her chops and rubbed her jaw against Hermione's hair.

"Aine means fire," Moody mused. "Or joy. Celtic language."

"She liked it," Hermione said. "We went through a name book together."

Moody made a face, but Kai slurped him under the chin, tail wagging as lava flung off it. Without thinking of himself and thinking of the poor foliage in the atrium, he put his hand over the beast's lava rump and tried to keep the lava from escaping. His eyes widened as the protection remained. The lava gathered in his hand and cooled almost instantly, crusting over and falling to the floor.

"My master says not to go hugging a volcano. We haven't proven if the protection only works for the hounds."

Alastor frowned.

"Did he hurt you?"

Hermione took his hands and looked, a worried expression on her face.

The pup pegged his face with its tongue, getting lava drool everywhere, and the lava cooled, covering his face like a charred mask. The pup yipped as he fell when Alastor clutched his face, trying to pry the hardened rock off his face. Hermione caught the pup, who cuddled into her, licking her chin happily.

Moody let out a loud gasp of air as sucked in his breath after prying off the "mask" and he plucked the magical eye out from the leather strap that had been fused to the cooled lava. But as he held his precious eye, his free hand went and touched his eye where the artefact had once lay.

"Auror Moody," Hermione said. "I don't mean to pry, but— why do you wear an eye over your eye?"

Moody stared at the eye in his hand as he closed his eyelids on each side, the crinkles on his face wrinkling a little extra with concentration. His hands drew across his face, tracing his skin as if searching for something. He staggered over to the fountain, peering in. His fingers touched his cheeks and forehead and even his eyelids where he had worn the "mad eye".

Hermione, patting the pup and setting him down, gently stroked Aine's muzzle before tending to Moody. He stared at her, his blue eyes boring into her with something akin to panic.

"Are you okay, Auror Moody?" she asked.

Moody gave her a long, searching look, both of his eyes staring into hers. "Lass, you are no witch," he said with a look of wonder. "You are a ruddy miracle worker, girl, just as surely as if you'd suckled upon the teats of the goddesses, anointed with ambrosia, and had your mortality burned away in the coals of the hearth."

Hermione stared at him, puzzled. "I am just a girl— with some pretty special friends."

"No, lass," Moody said. "This eye— this  _new_ eye— sees you differently. It's what they see," he said pointing to the hounds. "You are a beacon. You are the flame that others would willingly throw themselves in to be burned if only to experience the brilliance."

Hermione fidgeted. "I'm just a girl," she said again.

Alastor touched Hermione's hand, laying his no-longer-gnarled hand over hers. "You may not have been the one to do it, but it was by your hand that the opportunity was given. Is that not what true gods do? Those that wish to believe themselves gods threaten and posture. Those that truly are influence and inspire. You may think such things to be blasphemous, my girl, but I can see the powerful magic swirling around you. It is not something I would normally see. That anyone would normally see."

Hermione swallowed and frowned, discomfited.

A swirl of seemingly endless black came in, and the pups all ran up to greet him. They screeched to a halt beside him, staring up at him with tails wagging and lava drooling. He knelt, gently patting each one, tolerating their lava licks and wriggling enthusiasm. He stood after a while, giving them stern looks when they tried to jump up on his legs.

They instantly stopped their rude accosting of his person and bounce-romped back towards Aine, growling, tugging, and roughhousing all over her.

"Apprentice?"

"Yes, Master?"

Hermione approached him.

"Amelia asked if you would be amenable to showing some of the Adepts how you protect others from your Entourage."

Hermione brightened. "Oh! I mean, would that be okay?"

Snape arched a brow. "Yes."

She smiled. "Thank you, Master! When should I go?"

"They are waiting right now."

"Oh!" Hermione gasped. "I mean, is that okay, Auror Moody? You don't mind?"

The old Auror shook his head, and Hermione sighed with relief.

"Let's go everyone!" she called, and all the pups, Aine, and the Dementors trailed behind her.

"I believe, Alastor, that even though Miss Granger is probably the least likely to let anything like godhood go to her head, that allowing her to grow up would be the prudent choice."

"You  _knew_?" Moody's voice was accusatory.

"I  _suspected_. Knowing such things is something for the gods, not I."

Alastor's eyes furrowed. "What made you suspect?"

Snape tilted his head. "One must usually be born of the Dark to commune with the Dark— others can only learn how to use it, survive it, and pray it doesn't kill them before doing what they intended."

"You said usually."

Snape nodded. "Only those who have been touched by the divine can see the beauty in  _all_ things, Alastor." He looked into the fountain, brows furrowed. "She inspires. Both the greatness in those around her or the selfish cruel. Good or bad, she inspires— with one key difference. Those that stand against her find themselves staring into the Abyss with the yawning Void in front of them and her wrath behind them, succor in one hand and damnation in the other— yet there is no doubt that she had a domain in which she thrives: the beasts and beings often left to the side and thought lesser than men and women."

Alastor pondered. "Most who have been touched by the divine exchange sanity for the insight— or walk so close to the Astral that they can no longer remember the boundaries. Pandora Lovegood was one of those. Like Icarus, she flew to high and close to the sun, and she both isolated and fell to reality." His blue eyes stared through Snape as he thought over many things at once. "But Pandora was mortal, human— she did not have the spark of magic that swirls around your apprentice."

"If you studied the story of Demophon of Eleusis, if Demeter is the one that burned her mortality away, then unlike Celeus the King of Eleusis's wife, Metanira, found Demeter 'roasting' her son in the embers of the fire and thus broke the ritual with her, screaming as well as invoking the ire of Demeter Herself. Depending on the story, some say Demophon was burned to death due to the interruption— a testament to the broken ritual and lack of trust to the gods." Severus sighed and rubbed his chin. "But what if the Grangers were visited when Hermione was but a babe, taken while in care of a midwife or a nursemaid, by none other than Demeter Herself. It is not uncommon amongst well-to-do families to have nannies and other such assistance when they have two doctors in the family. They would never have known. Or, perhaps, they did— and they realised the gods were real and respected the goddess' actions. Who can say but the Granger's themselves— and the Goddess, Herself."

Moody rubbed his new eye, marvelling in its presence and the gift Hermione had unwittingly given him through her charges. "What does this mean for Britain?"

Severus sniffed. "For now? Nothing. She wishes to learn, and we shall teach her. She gives freely of herself as a child is wont to do— but she is so much more than just a child. She is an extraordinary, compassionate soul who thrives on the small touch and kind word and yet shrivels in the face of disapproval and scorn."

"Were you not one to give her both?"

"Yes, before."

"And yet, she seems to trust you implicitly now ."

Snape gave him a tight smile. "It did not take her long to realise that we shared a common history of mistreatment at the hands of our supposed peers." Snape inhaled deeply. "She, like me, was betrayed by someone she trusted, blamed for something said in the heat of anger, and tormented by the chosen heroes of the ruling headmaster."

Moody scowled. "Who?"

Severus' head moved back and forth like a cobra following a flute. He eyed Moody with an evaluating glare. "When I was but a student, as you know, Slytherin and Gryffindor were at odds far more often than at peace. I was often the target of much supposed mischief. But while  _some_ called it harmless boyhood pranks, I would argue otherwise— but I was sworn to secrecy to protect the reputations of a number of them. Even now, I cannot say their names in that regard."

Moody narrowed his eyes. "Someone put you under Oath?"

"A promise made under the threat of being Obliviated."

Alastor's eyebrows lifted as he startled. His face reddened. "You promised not to say anything, yes?"

Severus nodded.

Moody's expression darkened. "Why don't you extract the pertinent memories and "accidentally" leave them on my desk?"

Severus' eyebrows raised in surprise. "Auror Moody, have you exchanged your badger for a snake?"

Moody's lip curled. "Even badgers have their ways."

"So it would seem."

* * *

Hermione discovered, much to her delight, that a certain Whomping Willow had transplanted itself into their habitat abode within the DoM. The tree seemed ecstatic to see her again, whipping her up into its branches and passing her from branch to branch before allowing her to sit on one of the branches and relax.

The Nundus seemed mighty interested in the tree, and the mother Nundu was already up in the tree and lounging, all four legs dangling, leaving her cubs at the bottom to ponder life's unfairness that mummy was a much better climber than they were.

Master Edevane, Hermione's trainer in the care of magical creatures at the DoM (or at least the trainer in how things were  _traditionally_ done), was flabbergasted by the rather sudden arrival of the willow. He also had quite a few lumps on his head to show off his rather unfortunate and unexpected introduction to the willow's infamous protective ire. Any of Hermione's entourage seemed to be immune, having been approved in advance— Master Edevane, however, had come without permission (at least in the willow's opinion) and thus was marked for a vigorous pummelling.

Hermione had rescued the rather bewildered wizard from becoming a oily splotch of red on the ground after having been stunned so hard by the first whomp that he'd fallen unconscious for the rest. He'd woken up some time later in a hastily-conjured cot with a dour-looking Severus Snape pouring a foul tasting potion down his throat with the threat, "Drink this or else die painfully."

His bedside manner was pretty much like his Hogwarts teaching demeanor. Hermione found it quite amusing, and she wondered if that made her a bad person. Her master had become calm and much more attuned to her way of learning now that he didn't have hundreds of other students to keep from blowing each other up. His personality around most others, however, remained—well, rather abrasive, to say the least.

There were those that let it slide off their back, and there were those that seemed to want to throw Unforgivables at the very sight of him. While it didn't seem to bother him, the moment it transferred to her, he became fury incarnate, defending her honour with either silent disdain or threats of a duel of honour.

She had no idea how that would go over, but she imagined it would be harsh— for the other guy.

She wasn't sure why some people didn't like her just by meeting her once, either. She was always dressed in her apprentice robes, spoke only when spoken to, silent otherwise as was expected—

Sure, she looked like a miniature dungeon bat with her flowing robes, but surely  _that_ wasn't the reason? Maybe?

When she thought about it, people reading really wasn't her thing. The beasts were always an easy read, ever straightforward and direct. People— people were  _so_ complicated.

Her one trip to Gringotts with Master Edevane to check on the beasts that guarded the lower levels had ended with her having an Ukrainian Ironbelly wanting to follow her home.

When the goblins used their strange bells to drive the dragon back, the fear and anticipation of pain from the dragon had caused her to rush forward and give the dragon comfort, hugging its muzzle and stroking its eye ridges, offering a comforting touch over pain. She'd summoned a pot of oil from her prized beaded bag and enlarged it, oiling the dragon down until every scale was glistening with a healthy coat of oil.

The Dementors floated in, carrying a large haunch of something quite dead, and much to the goblins' surprise, she sat down on the ground and used her wand to cut off small slices, feeding her new friend by hand, little by little.

Master Edevane was busy trying to explain to the goblins how it was possible that a little wisp of a human girl could possible subdue a Ukrainian Ironbelly, but the evidence was right there in front of them.

By the time the dragon was oiled, fed, and quite scarily released from its chains, Hermione was sitting on the dragon's back, draping herself on the dragon's neck and rubbing its neck as it carried her deep into its "lair" where most of its beloved treasure lay.

Hermione had taken the next few hours introducing the goblins to the dragon one by one and having them destroy the shakers and rattles in front of the suspicious reptile. Since it was a vault dragon, she pondered something that would signal that it was okay for someone to be down there, and the goblins decided that any goblin coming down to that area would carry a very specific dragon plushie that would only be brought down when they were bringing down food or guests.

The goblins were, of course, suspicious of how well that would work, but after a few test runs, and a few flaming arses later, they were convinced.

Hermione and Master Edevane had said their goodbyes after giving new instructions on how to handle their dragons.

When Severus had found a huge box of fine crystal potion vials, leather bound handmade paper journals, rare quills, and extremely rare potion ingredients on his desk the next day, his eyebrows looked ready to launch a rocket into space. He stared at his apprentice with concern, and she gave him her best sheepish, halo-wearing smile.

He gave Hermione her pick of the journals and quills first, and then they both sorted, labelled, and organised the potion ingredients in their personal storage room. He taught her how to tell the age by how the ingredients moved in the container without having taken the lid off, colour of the best ingredients, and what made the rarest potion ingredients so rare. By the time they were done, the entire day was gone, but Hermione felt like she hadn't wasted a single minute.

Much to her delight, her new journals and quills were resistant to Nundu and Nightmare hound lava-teeth, and she was thankful for that.

When a ominous-looking red, smoking letter arrived on her master's desk, Hermione immediately wondered what she had done wrong, thinking the worst and that it had been her fault— somehow.

The outraged male voice that spewed abuse from the twisted letter was not remotely happy about "interlopers" and "brainwashing" his perfectly trained dragons to the point where the goblins had supposedly tendered him the pink slip.

She didn't recognise the voice, but judging by her master's smashing the letter into Aine's burning hide to make it burst into flames, he  _did_.

"Am I in trouble, Master?" she asked nervously.

"No," he said. "There will always be dunderheads who think because they came first that they are in the right."

She wanted to ask who the person was, but she recognised the look on her master's face. It was the "ask me no questions lest I set myself on fire and burn down everything around me" look.

A quick conference with Master Edevane had sent the elder wizard storming off towards Amelia's office— the direction everyone in the DoM knew to be a portent of doom— and no more Howlers came to visit.

Hermione decided to be thankful for the favour and not question it.

Her lessons were going extremely well, she was allowed to brew and study with her charges milling about as long as they didn't stick their noses, claws, or any other body parts into the cauldrons or chew on the books and parchments. Many of the people thought she was training to be the librarian with the time she clocked in the library doing her research.

While the Dementors helped with cold-brewing, the lava hounds seemed perfectly happy cuddling with the cauldrons for superheated brewing. While she was not so quick on the adjustments as her master, Severus seemed to be able to keep up with the accelerated adjustments to the recipe, making a few new, improved potion recipes that the clinic in the Ministry was mighty interested in. Potent burn cream, concentrated sun protectant, and first ever Lava Drops, which could heat an entire cauldron of base to boiling with just one drop and not leave any side effects. It was easier to make (well, at least for them) than trying to convince a firedrake to drool into a collection tube, and it could be used to heat water in emergencies even if a person didn't know the spell (or perhaps was incapable of it) in a crisis.

Her master mumbled that he wasn't sure who was happier, the healers, the potions makers, or the people who wanted hot tea right  _now_ , thank you.

Hermione promptly recommended all of the above, but that earned her a trademark scowl.

Still, a number of patents later, their list of potions, creams, ointments, and tinctures were growing, and the number of people who wanted them was also growing. No one would replicate them, though Snape suspected they were trying, because no one outside the DoM knew how they were creating the specialised conditions for each potion.

"Have Dementor hold cauldron; three makes the best balance," was seen as a joke because it was "ridiculous." "Have Volcanic Nightmare pups cuddle your cauldron" went over just as badly.

Hermione was distressed that people thought she was lying, but Snape told her not to worry. Sometimes, he said, people think the obvious is the wrong answer. The best lies, he continued, were the truth and having someone  _believe_ you were lying.

Hermione thought that seemed little strange, but she promised to think on it more.

Severus was convinced that her skills and results of her brewing proved enough. He was not so coddling (as if the man could ever) as to tell her when something was wrong or that something could be improved, but he was honest with her that there were a lot of things she did right. The rest, he was there to teach her the better way or guide her into finding it herself. Either was fine for her. She preferred it to what their very negative relationship had been before.

When she thought over it, she realised that had she had a choice between this newer, stable, even healthy teaching and learning relationship with Severus Snape and the shallow friendships she had before— she'd pick him as her master over that any day. The revelation was bit jolting to her, as always before she had thought she needed the friendship of her peers to be strong… brave.

At last, she had begun to realise that the faith in those she could trust, even if they were not her friends, was important, much like her parents had been. Her parents weren't her friends, but she never doubted their support. Even when they found out she was a witch, they seemed to only be grateful to know there were others with such gifts she could be around. They'd always seemed to think there was more to her than met the eye, implying she was more than just a little talented— in something they never quite disclosed.

Only one thing was for sure: she wasn't meant to be a dentist, unless you figured in how many times she had to pull something out between Tesfaye's sizeable Nundu molars.

Classes were going by fast, at least she felt like it was, and she loved how attentive all the masters were in the Department of Mysteries. They all knew their stuff, and they all knew how to best teach their stuff, and unlike at the school where they had hundreds of students to teach at a time, they enjoyed one on one, two on one, or at the most three on one, never higher.

It wasn't that she thought the Hogwarts teachers were inept— well most of them, excluding Lockhart who had been a sham from day one and Quirrell who had been faking so much it was hard to tell what he really knew. She knew that it took a different sort of person to juggle a classroom and be able to teach many versus a few. Her master was an example of that. He was brilliant but not a crowd pleaser.

Hermione wasn't even sure if she was a crowd pleaser, truth be told. She  _did_ like to please, but— well, not everyone.

Not anymore, anyway. She'd learned her lesson well.

Perhaps, it was lessons in plural. There had been quite a few things she'd had to learn, after all.

Hermione flopped up against Tesfaye, yawning as the mother Nundu groomed her head, which she was convinced was her attempt to rid her of her hair altogether. She rubbed the big cat's ears, causing her to rumble in approval. "Did you want to do anything today?"

The Nundu seemed to shrug.

Hermione thought it might be a lie in day for the Nundu mum— all her cubs were out cold, having worn themselves out chasing the Whomping Willow branches. "You know, Auror Moody said we could come visit his flower garden if we wanted."

The Nundu perked, whiskers twitching. Hermione smiled. "He does seem a lot more likeable when he isn't trying to make up things about our master, yes?"

The Nundu nodded decisively.

Hermione flopped back against the Nundu and smiled. "Maybe Master Snape will let us visit on the weekend."

Tesfaye laid her head on Hermione's lap, rumbling.

One of the pups came bouncing up with a  _Daily Prophet_  clasped between his jaws, only part of it surviving due to the exposure to the lava. Hermione took the paper gratefully, lavishing the pup with love and praise, trying to hide her mortification on what her master would think if he actually wanted to read the paper.

Hermione stared at the holey paper and wondered if a repair spell would work on incinerated paper.

"Not likely," Snape said as he walked by carrying a mint condition  _Prophet_.

"Nothing gets by you, Master, why is that?" Hermione said, frowning.

"Years of avid practice watching children try to blow each other up," he replied, opening his own paper to read it as he sat down on a willow branch. The happy willow drew him up to nestle him with the Nundu cubs, who happily tried to crawl into his lap all at the same time. Snape rolled his eyes, fluffed up one cub, and used him as a fluffy feline pillow.

The cubs, deciding that their sibling was getting more of the attention that they wanted, tried to wriggle under him and be pillows too.

Hermione snickered into her sleeve, trying not to be obvious, but failed completely.

"You look pretty comfy," Amelia observed, looking up at the willow.

Snape grunted but said nothing.

"Moody is having a house-warming party this Friday. Moving into a new place before he accepts that DADA teaching job at Hogwarts for a year. Scrimgeour wants him to feel out how things are going there. You can imagine how well he took the plan."

Snape sniffed. "He is, most undoubtedly, ecstatic."

"He's not exactly the ideal representative of teacherly understanding and tolerance, no," Amelia said with a sigh. "But Severus, it would make me very happy if you could go and give him a few pointers on what to expect so he doesn't murder anyone while he's there."

"You wish me to teach Alastor how  _not_ to murder dunderheaded children?"

Amelia smiled. "It's a personal goal that I think the DoM shares."

Snape wrinkled his nose. "I suppose I will humour you, then." He eyed Hermione as she played with Fenrir, who had materialised out of nowhere with a highly gnawed on stick that seemed to heal itself after being chewed on: a werewolf's best friend.

A group of bouncing  _Monstrous Books of Monsters_  flitted about, bounce squeaking as they chased each other around.

"Who gets to tell her she can only bring a few of them?" Snape asked, narrowing his eyes at Amelia, daring her to make  _him_ the bad guy.

Amelia shook her head. "Fear not. Your reputation shall not grow worse. I'll handle it."

Snape's nose wrinkled. "You had better not make her cry. Every single Dementor from here to the ocean on each side will make their way here to comfort her."

Amelia rolled her eyes. " _Do_  give me a little more credit than that, Severus."

Severus fluffed his Nundu cub and leaned on his side to read the Prophet. The cub mrowled happily, using its rough tongue to peg his arm a few times before settling in a log formation.

"You realise that no one out there in the normal world would  _ever_ believe what I'm seeing right now, yes?"

Snape smiled. "It seems to be working for us."

Amelia shook her head. "I think I'm a bit jealous."

Severus grunted. "Good."

* * *

Severus had  _not_ expected to arrive to find Moody's new place looking like a battle zone. A spilt silver flask lay on the floor along with the remains of what might have been a fry up. Cushions and pillows lay scattered about in total disarray. Shattered bits of glass littered the floor. Papers, books, and even the  _Daily Prophet_  covered the floor in shreds.

He stood in front of Hermione, protecting her with himself, silently putting a shield over her in case some spell came from behind.

Moody was talking to Arthur Weasley, of all people, waving off the other wizard's obvious concern.

"Alastor, the neighbours were awfully concerned. They said there was a horrible struggle, like bombs going off during a fight."

"It was just some rampaging cutpurse looking to help himself to me things," Moody huffed. "Arthur, you can stop hovering like a mother hen. Just hurt me pride that I was too lazy to properly ward the place before I moved my stuff in."

Moody brushed off Arthur's concerns and gave Snape a glare, his face scrunched up with annoyance. "What did  _ **you**_ want, Death Eater?"

Severus felt Hermione's hair bristle as shock warred with loss of respect. Moody had always been abrasive, but ever since the incident in the Ministry atrium, he'd been remarkably tolerant towards him— sometimes even amiable. He'd been downright fatherly to Hermione, and something—

Something was definitely off.

Mind you, he was no expert on the most recent, helpful, reasonable Moody, but he had both cleared Sirius Black of murdering Muggles and subsequently charged him with attempted murder by werewolf. Black had been seventeen when he'd so kindly tried to murder him using Lupin— and even Potter couldn't stomach outright murder, even if it was "the greasy git."

The Wizengamot gave him credit for time served for the wrong crime— but at least he was officially charge for the crime that had gone under the radar under Dumbledore's watch. Dumbledore, while having convinced the Wizengamot that the damage that could have been done to Remus Lupin's reputation due to the act and his innocence in the matter, managed to wriggle out of severe punishment— but Moody had implied that he was being watched closely in case similar situations reared up.

Severus, narrowed his eyes at Alastor, and Hermione picked it up much as she picked up the silent ways of her charges. She'd grown used to reading his body language over his words in the silent world of social balances that came with being his apprentice so close to the Ministry. Words were a luxury, and when they were alone or amongst more accepting company, he was more apt to direct, teach, and encourage— or correct, admonish, or voice disapproval. A part of him wondered if he was inadvertently creating another spy, but he reassured himself there was nothing wrong with having such skills for survival.

Reading people was a practice few people indulged in short of the basics. Reading subtle tells, tightening of muscles, posture, and the unsaid word combined with tone of voice or lack thereof was— Hermione was a master of reading the beasts, beings, and creatures. It was applying that to humans he had been encouraging her to practice.

Thankfully, she was picking up his tells, which Amelia would argue was far harder than anyone else.

Hermione straightened. "Auror Moody," she gushed sweetly, her voice terribly innocent and almost childlike. "You promised to give us a tour of your new place!"

She squeezed her Nundu cub with artificial insecurity, puckering out her lip with a pout worthy of Pansy Parkinson. Fenrir was picking up her cues, and he rolled on his back and writhed in the grass, pretending to be a normal, if a bit wolfy, dog. The Dementors hadn't made their appearance— yet. He knew it was only a matter of time. They seemed to require her hugs and cuddles as much as she did theirs.

Dementors were surprisingly needy. Who knew?

He had his suspicions that the fact no one wanted their cuddles and comfort was the main reason they went off sucking the happiness out of people. Hell, most Death Eaters found them completely unnerving, if anything because they could suck out their soul and leave them an empty, breathing, but utterly lifeless in the mind husk.

Hermione's Dementors were— dare he think it— happy beings. Happy to serve. Happy for cuddles. Happy to help. Had he not seen it before his very eyes, he'd thought himself mad even considering the words "Dementor" and "happy" in the same paragraph, let alone sentence.

Then again, he thought, Hermione's first (second if you considered the raging orange fur-ball the first) familiar was a sodding formerly homicidal werewolf. Crookshanks was probably sitting in Amelia's office, pillaging her stash of the tuna sandwiches that she loved so much. Sharing them, Amelia would correct, but everyone knew that she and Crooks had mutually foodophile relationship. She even shared her sashimi on the occasions she indulged. Now that was love.

Moody, who apparently was so occupied in reassuring Arthur that everything was fine, didn't catch Hermione's tone of familiarity— just as Severus suspected he wouldn't.

"Why would I waste time on showing a young thing like you such a boring, empty place as a scruffy old Auror's hovel?"

Hermione's face pouted with extra pout power as she put out her lip a little more. "Well, can I least let the little ones down?"

Moody curled his lip unflatteringly. "Whatever, girlie. Just keep—"

Hermione beamed so brightly as she released Zorion to the ground. The Nundu cub mrowled and was immediately bowled over by a happy Kai. The pup and Nundu tumbled and pounced Fenrir, who still lay on his back, knowing that was where Hermione wanted him— for now. The pup and cub tussled with Fenrir, chewing, playing, and tugging on all his various places— save one particular area that got both of them swatted at, teeth clicking and just barely missing their tender noses.

Pup and cub nuzzled and rubbed up against him in apology, and the werewolf seemed to harrumph before flopping back down. Fenrir yawned widely, tongue lolling. He kept his eyes trained on Moody, watching him intently— especially his hands and feet— unblinking with one eye open and both ears perked and swivelling to whatever noise was around him.

Kai cocked his head cutely, looking like Nipper the RCA dog, and he made a swift beeline towards the house door.

" _ **Oi!**_  Where're  _ **you**_ going?" Moody barked.

Kai screeched a halt, head cocked again. His ears swivelled forward and back, homing in on something.

Barroo!

He was off. His tail wagging as he took off towards the house again.

_**Crack-CRACK!** _

Moody had Apparated from one side of his yard to the door, his large hand wrapping around the pup's belly to pick it up.

Even more excited, the pup wriggled and slurped Moody right upside the face, his body setting itself to smolder and ooze lava from every crack that formed over his transforming skin. The pup panted with excitement, happy to have his friend back and wanting to play, and he wriggled and slurped under Moody's chin and up his face— glowing orange-yellow lava slathering all over the Auror's face.

Severus couldn't help but smirk as "Moody" screamed, obviously in extreme pain, instinctively trying to get it off his face only to sink his fingers into even more burning hot lava, and he cried out in agony as his skin quickly blistered, charred and smoked, setting to flames from the intense heat.

Moody was screaming, burning alive, and writhing on the ground. He started running full-tilt towards the neighbour's garden. He blew through the hedge like a cartoon character busting through a wall and then threw himself headlong into the rain barrel.

Kai tilted his head sadly , whimpering that his "friend" had gone away.

Zorion, meanwhile, had found a trail she wanted to follow, and Fenrir was hot on her heels to keep her disease breathing end in line.

Severus stood, arms crossed as Arthur sent Patroni out in various directions. His face was stern, but inside he was chuckling with dark amusement. There could only be one reason why Moody was burning, and that was that Moody wasn't  _really_ Moody. His apprentice had given him the hounds' blessing— sympathetic magic from the bond of her familiars— as protection against their magma cores and resulting lava excretions. The real Alastor Moody had that blessing. He had the blessing. It was still yet to be proven if it worked if Hermione was not around, but it was very rare that any of the more "dangerous" charges were around and underfoot without Hermione being close by.

Aurors were buzzing around like a swarm of bees now, even as the distinctively purple robes of the Obliviators came in to deal with the poor family whose lives had been shattered by some literally flaming bloke who decided to use their water trough as a way to counter the molten attack on his flesh.

People were swarming around him, ignoring him completely, and Severus had to admit that was… different. Normally when things went screaming straight to Hades,  _he_ was the one that people inevitably stared at.

Hermione was staring up at him, looking somewhat distressed. "Master?"

"Hn?"

She scrunched her face a little. "Fen says that Auror Moody is still inside."

Severus furrowed his brows. "Can he lead us to him?"

Hermione nodded. She looked at Fenrir, and the werewolf promptly jumped up and trotted along, staying just ahead but not too far away from his mistress. Unlike the ornery half-Kneazle, Fenrir was far more of a physical be-there-all-the-time sort of familiar. Crookshanks simply showed up whenever he was needed— even if it was only if  _he_ thought so.

The rest of the time the ginger-furred traitor was off with Amelia Bones, buttering her up for a bit of sashimi.

Severus followed, his wand at the ready, he himself ready to throw himself bodily in front of Hermione if someone or some _thing_  with nefarious intent were to leap out. Fenrir, however, was an excellent judge of hidden things, and he seemed quite unconcerned. Werewolves as bodyguards were apparently pretty trustworthy— provided you had a strong familiar bond with one. Maybe he could convince Lupin to get himself a nice collar and submit to someone.

Hah.

That would be the day.

The only thing Lupin would think was worse than being a werewolf was being a werewolf permanently. He still didn't believe Fenrir was happy being his apprentice's loyal wolf-guard either. Somehow, someway, old Snape was pulling on his chain  _again_.

Pity the ol' werewolf was chilling his jets with Black in Wizengamot-ordered therapy and— what was the term— rehabilitation? Whatever you called being forced into classes about awareness with regard to the safety of children or the safety of people in general.

From what Snape had heard, Potter the younger was having some issues dealing with a godfather that was not out to murder him, didn't murder his parents or a dozen Muggles, but  _did_ try to murder his teenaged Potions teacher with a werewolf.

Sure, he had already, technically, served enough time for crimes he wasn't guilty of to see him released— but both he and Lupin were now being watched for child endangerment—well, it wasn't a perfect end for Black in Snape's mind, but it was a bit validating to at least have him come to justice on the attempted murder.

True, they had both thrown hexes, curses, and everything else at each other, but more often than not it had been the entire gang against him. It was never a one on one sort of conflict. The worst day of his life, save the night he had gotten rip-roaringly drunk and woke up with a tattoo, had been because of his torment in front of the entire school chanting "Snivellus! Greasy!"

The essential rules for life had been learned.

One, no matter  _how_ angry you were, don't show it by exploding into someone's face.

Two, no matter  _how_ angry you are, don't get drunk over it. (Truly, he should have known better given his own bastard father's legacy of intoxication and abuse.)

Three, you can lose your best childhood friend with just a word being said. Just  _one_. Years of friendship could be ruined with one stupid world said in anger and mortification.

And the fourth was, of course, no matter what prophecy you think you heard,  _don't_ go blabbing it all to a reigning psychopath— or anyone for that matter.

Fenrir stopped his trek through the house and sat next to large trunk that was half hidden in the "debris" of the half-destroyed house. He whuffed and lay down, tail wagging, let his mistress know whatever was important was within that trunk.

Hermione, wisely, lavishly praised the werewolf and led him away, allowing him to deal with what was in it. Snape moved Hermione behind him and unlocked the trunk with his wand. The lid flew open and a cascade of mini-trunks rose up from it, also opening with a distinct series of clicks.

A continuous stream of colourful Gaelic cursing issued from within.

Hermione's face reddened with mortification, and she hugged Fenrir tightly.

"Alastor?" Snape yelled down the opening, throwing a strong  _Lumos_ into the darkness.

Alastor, completely starkers save for his pants, bellowed up. "Snape? Get me the  _ **hell**_ out of here, man. I'm going to  _ **kill**_ him!"

Blodwyn popped in amidst a cloud of aether and pulled a rope ladder out of "nothingness" and knotted it to the lid with her silk. " _Oh hai! I brought a ladder. Good thing too. Looks like he needs one!"_

The ladder went clattering down the hole as the spider disappeared.

A half-dehaired Alastor Moody with fresh bruises and a giant goose egg on his head climbed out of the trunk and stood in all his starker glory—

Hermione meeped and hid behind Snape, while Severus averted his eyes in self-defence more than politeness as he threw a thick wad of hastily-conjured clothing at Moody. He'd already seen far more of Alastor Moody's impressive scar collection than he'd  _ever_ wished to see, even with his face and hands being newly pristine thanks to exposure to Volcanic Nightmare lava-slobber.

"Bloody Barty Crouch Junior— he was supposed to be in sodding Azkaban!" Moody frowned as Barty Crouch Junior's screams of agonising burnination carried from outside. He blinked. "Is that?"

"That would be Barty Crouch— Junior."

Moody let all of the air out of his lungs, righted a chair, and sat down on it. "Oh." He stared into space.

Blodwyn popped out of thin air bearing a tray of tea, biscuits, and a large bowl of maple glazed popcorn. " _Oh hai!_ " she greeted. " _I brought snacks!"_ She set the tray down, crawled onto Moody's head, wiped it with a damp silk cloth, and then poured tea into the various little cups. She chucked a few cups of sugar into one cup, added a splash of milk, and then whisked it into Moody's hand, using a bit of silk to keep the cup from falling from his hand. She then grabbed a cluster of popcorn, crawled up his chest, and stuffed it into his mouth. " _Chew. That's a good human. Okay! The rest you can do yourself!"_

Poof! She was gone in a whirl of aether.

Hermione touched Snape's hand, letting her fingers brush against the inside of his wrist, a silent bid for audience.

Severus turned to her. "Yes?"

"Grandfather says they hadn't been looking for him because he was already dead. Barty Crouch— or someone that looked like him— was buried at Azkaban." Hermione allowed herself to be embraced by the elder Dementor. His cold aura sent hoarfrost under their feet.

"I was there." Alastor's head had jerked up. "I saw the body, it was— we thought it was— Barty Crouch's body." Moody stared up at Severus. "His mother visited shortly before he died. A last wish before she died." Moody's face turned into a scowl.

"When he died it was such a relief— one less Dark wizard— we never even thought that his mother's dying visit had set him free. If anything, we thought she slipped him poison or something to make sure he never left. We were willing to turn a blind eye to that after the things he'd done. He'd had a life sentence anyway."

Hermione touched Snape's wrist again, her eyes wide.

"What is it, Apprentice?"

Her eyes darted as she swallowed before speaking. "They are angry that he tricked them," she said. "They don't want me to go out there. Grandfather forbids it until—"

Snape shuddered instinctively.

Hermione's entourage had been nicked from Azkaban's original guards. If anyone could hold a grudge, it would be them— an angry Dementor could only mean one thing.

"Stay here with Alastor," he said, "and keep your entourage close."

Hermione nodded, sinking into Grandfather's icy embrace. "Yes, Master."

Her distress called them to her, and the lava pup and Nundu cub were both bounding in to tend to her.

"Gods! What the—"

"I've never seen—"

"I'll  _ **never**_ unsee this—"

Various calls of distress came from outside, surprisingly not just from Barty Crouch Jr. Severus arrived outside a second later to discover that Kai had "kindly" relieved himself all over Barty's shoes, both burning him to the bone while encasing his lower legs in obsidian lava-cooled stone. The gathered Aurors looked ready to hurl from the disgusting sight as well as the ungodly stench of burnt flesh and urine.

Severus, having been accustomed to much worse during the Dark Lord's infamous "parties", found the entire scene as quite tame, all things considered, but he knew it wasn't exactly normal fare for those outside the Dark Lord's "good" graces. Barty Senior, had always been the most hardcore stickler to the letter of the law. Barty Junior, on the other hand, had always been the same on the opposite spectrum of chaos and wanton violence— first in line to torture and make someone feel like shite's runny shite, no second to even the likes of Bellatrix. Bella, by far, no matter  _ **how**_ genuinely ooked up the dooker he was, surpassed him and everyone else.

Only the Dark Lord was worse— and that was because he was nothing like Bellatrix. No, he was his own unique brand of twisted psychopathy incarnate. Whatever humanity he might have had, he had sacrificed it early on and thrown it screaming in front of the Hogwarts Express.

No thanks to one Albus sodding Dumbledore.

That was the secret Severus had never revealed he knew either to the Dark Lord who had provided it nor to Dumbledore, who had first set it in motion. Had it not been for Albus Dumbledore, Tom Riddle would never have become Voldemort.

_Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_I am Lord Voldemort._

Severus had done his research, found the old Wool Orphanage, and learned of a twisted young boy who had demonstrated all the signs of clinical psychopathy. Yet wise, kindly, interfering younger Dumbledore just had to take him under wing and help him acquire his magical training.

So, after all his supposed perfections, Dumbledore was human and fallible after all. Fatally so, if you were to consider the fact that he supported the first Dark Lord and then created the second—

Those were facts Severus had very tightly woven into his security plan, just in case Albus sent him in to die under the power of the Oath. Should he die and not refresh the timer on some very special vials of memories, they would automatically transport themselves to every magical Ministry's Department of Mysteries.

He'd be dead— but there would be no saving the truth. All of the secret truths he knew from  _both_ sides.

Things were a little different now—

He had Hermione under wing, and he had some very special instructions and arrangements that he had pre-made just in case something were to happen to him and she were to be left adrift without her master. It was his job to protect and provide, and he took that responsibility quite seriously.

Even if something did happen to him, which he wasn't really planning on, she would be taken care of. Their already bursting coffers had been funnelled off into many different goblin savings and investments, both magical and Muggle. She would not be like he was as a student. She would not suffer hand me down clothes and neglect. She would not… become what he had.

She could make decisions, some could be wrong, but it would not be because she lacked knowledge of both sides of the equation. That was far more than he had been given, his teenage mind addled with hatred for his drunken Muggle father, his abused, powerless mother, and even that blinding grief of being repudiated by his only childhood friend.

No, he would be what he had not been given— a master that took care of his apprentice, a confidant, and someone she could trust with herself. It was something her own house could not do for her. One single whiff of danger or darkness had sent them all screaming into hysterical finger-pointing and unsubstantiated accusations.

Slughorn had been— well, he had taught him some things, but not much of it had been potions. Most of it had been the typical Slytherin bill of fare taken up perhaps a notch or five. He  _had_ given him access to some pretty amazing potions, however, and those he made himself in practice.

Grandfather floated in, Hermione quickly caught up in his protective embrace. He had placed a blindfold on her, and she, in perfect trust, had not questioned it.

Oh, to have such trust again. Such things, for Severus, were long gone.

Grandfather hovered with menace, his hoarfrost radiating with more of an all-encompassing zone of frigid effect that was far greater than the others. Whether this was due to his age or some other indicator of his power, Snape wasn't sure. The Aurors and other gathered stumbled hurriedly away from the area, petrified by the very presence of Grandfather. The powerful aura that gave so much comfort to Hermione had the exact opposite effect on the uninitiated.

Grandfather extended his hand over Barty's charred, lava-covered body, and the still molten stone cooled almost instantly, sealing the wizard in a cocoon of freezing cold stone.

" _ **No! NO!"**_  Barty screamed, but it did not seem to be the agony of his situation that made him wail so piteously. "He's at the old Riddle Manse! A shrivelled, hideous  _ **thing**_ like a baby mated with a snake. So twisted. So oddly beautiful. No! Just don't take my soul! I  _ **like**_ it. Broken. Twisted. But it's  _ **mine!**_   _ **Mine!"**_

The Dementors hovered, seemingly unconvinced. They hissed and floated, long fingers moving like the spread of tree roots beneath the earth.

Hermione lifted her head. "It's okay, you know. You caught him, right? So, you don't have to eat him— I mean, unless the Wizengamot thinks you should. Who argues with them?"

The Dementors floated, hissing, but Grandfather patted Hermione on the head as one would reassure a young loved one. He glared at the other Dementors, and they slowly floated off— if one could float away mollified, they were doing quite a good interpretation of that.

Barty had descended into unintelligible babble, and it was hard to discern what was real or made up in his tortured mind. Pain may have addled him, but he was obviously a hogshead short of wine cellar, and it wasn't helping his mental state.

"We should check on this at once before word gets back to the Dark Git— if it can be trusted at  _all_ ," Moody muttered lowly as he watched the healers trying to make heads or tails of how to even begin to fix what had been done to Barty's ravaged body.

Browl.

Mrowl.

The pup and cub seemed a little confused as to what all the fuss was about.

Hermione knelt, and the fuzzy duo bounded over to her, eager for pets and scritches. She did so without bothering to remove the blindfold. Her hands sought out their favourite rubbing places, and she smiled as they licked her face.

Grandfather seemed to hover protectively over them until the Aurors took away Barty's body. Then, and only then, did he gently lift the blindfold off his charge.

Hermione squinted a little at the light, frowning and burying her face into the Dementor's black robes. "It's awfully bright out here," she whinged, wincing.

Severus extended his hand. "Hold out your wand, and make this motion." He made a motion with his finger as though it were a wand. She imitated it. Now say this incantation."

He said, " _Oculorum lumine vultus_."

Hermione repeated it her eyes closing as she imprinted the spell on her memory.

"The counter to this spell is  _Lux restituet_." Severus waited as she repeated the words over and over. "The gesture is the same only backwards."

Hermione bit her lip, tracing the gesture she had shown him and then carefully reversed it.

"This is one of the few times you will ever point a wand at yourself. Do not do so when addled in anyway, no matter how hung over you might be and think it wise."

Hermione frowned, having never gotten drunk in her life, but she did understand the reasoning. "Yes, master."

She took a deep breath, point the wand to herself, did the wand motion, and said, " _Oculorum lumine vultus."_

She smiled, her eyes no longer squinting. "Thank you, Master!"

" _Pas de problème_ ," he said, "and the latter, which you use as the counter spell, can also be used to restore areas shrouded in magical darkness when you suspect it has been artificially induced."

Hermione's eyes widened with excitement. "Can it be used to extinguish a wand light if you take out the  _oculorum_?"

Severus smiled tightly, just enough that the tips of his lips tugged at his mouth. "Yes, it can."

Hermione looked ecstatic at the new knowledge and she broke protocol and gave him a hug, her face plastered against his line of endless buttons.

Snape jolted, unaccustomed to anyone accosting his person in a way that wasn't trying to hurt him or simply running into him by not paying attention. For a moment he was utterly paralysed, wondering where his anger was, but as his hand gently touched her hair of infinite bushiness, his muscles relaxed as a distinct fondness for her intelligence and fascination for learning reminded him that at least  _some_ students were not blithering dunderheads. Some people did possess a genuine kind of compassion that didn't fade with a single sin committed for whatever reason.

Snape's eyelid twitched. Maybe he  _was_ a little bitter. Still.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"Are you angry with me?"

He frowned. "No."

"Your eyelid was twitching."

"Just thinking, Apprentice. On many a thing that did not include you. I promise you that."

Hermione smiled. "Okay." She lifted up Zorion and the cub purred and tried to snuggle him.

Snape sighed and cradled the cub against his shoulder, receiving rough Nundu licks and a face full of "happy" disease. He mentally thanked Hermione for her sympathetic protective magic. He also thanked the beasts for having taught her that trick, just to cover all the bases.

"Savage, pick your sorry arse up off the ground and get a team together to survey the Riddle place in Little Hangleton and determine precisely where that scaly bastard is located. Why the hell are you hugging yourself, man?" Moody's voice, as usual, brokered no softness.

Savage stared at him accusingly. "D-Dementors, boss. They chill you to the bone!"

"Suck it up, Savage. Take Proudfo— where the  _ **hell**_ is Proudfoot?"

Savage pointed to the garden hedges.

"Proudfoot, stop quivering in the damned leaves like a ninny and go help Savage find a snake-faced baby-looking thing. Shouldn't be too hard. Be ready for anything, though."

"More Dementors?" Proudfoot bemoaned.

Moody snarled at them. "Get your arses moving! You want to see the end of the war don't you? Then get cracking!"

The two other Aurors scrambled to obey, looking sheepish.

A soft hissing came from Grandfather. It took a moment for Moody to realise Grandfather was… laughing.

"I guess that  _was_ pretty funny," Moody muttered.

"Why are they so afraid of you?" Hermione asked Grandfather.

The Dementor shrugged, hissing.

"Because he's one bonafide  _scary_ m— ah, bloke," Moody said, adjusting his speech to not sound quite as crude as he would normally.

Snape raised a brow.

"Oh, well, I guess you  _are_ kind of scary when you haven't been hugged in the morning."

Grandfather lifted Hermione up and she snuggled under his chin. "I'm still not sure what you did to that man, but if he's as bad as you say, then I trust you did the right thing."

Moody shrugged. "He'll be going before the Wizengamot, lassie," he said. "Once the healers can stabilise him, that is."

Hermione's expression saddened. "Zorion and Kai said he wasn't the real Moody. They wanted to prove it. I said okay. Was that— did I do a bad thing?"

Moody shook his head. "The man you helped catch today, lass, was a horrible man. A long time ago, he helped torture a couple of Aurors— the Longbottoms, you see— along with Bellatrix, Rabastan, and Rodolphus Lestrange. They're all in Azkaban now, but ol' Dumbledore is convinced the Dark Lord will return. If what Barty was saying was true— he  _has_ , if only partially. He probably has some other plan— but what that is, I canna say fer sure."

Severus rubbed his temple. "Power and immortality has always been his ultimate goal. Making the world pay for the greatest sin against him the second."

"That being?"

"Being born."

Hermione boggled. "That's contradictory."

"But true."

Hermione shook her head. "Nothing in this screams validation for making war on an entire country."

"Nothing wrong with that, lass," Moody said. "None of it makes sense. That you can't see it isn't so bad a thing. One thing I can say is that the start of a war seldom makes sense, but sometimes we have very good reasons to finish it."

Hermione sighed. "I suppose," she said sullenly. "It must be naive of me to want everyone to get along."

"Idealistic, but not so wrong to want such a thing," Snape replied. "The problem is people have different ideas of what is ideal— and there is no compromise when such heads beat together. Even the pantheon gods have different ideas of the ideal, hence their domains differing."

Hermione nodded, hugging Kai close to her as she snuggled into Grandfather's lap.

"Do you require us to assist?" Severus asked Alastor. "If not, I would recommend that we clean your place up and have it properly warded and searched just in case Mr Crouch left behind some playthings that no one would wish upon themselves."

"Aye, let me take a look 'round then. We can set this place to rights and then I'll go help Savage and Proudfoot find anything else over at Little Hangleton. They're good at achieving general goals, but not so much at looking out for smaller, well-hidden threats."

"We can help," Hermione said as Grandfather hissed. "Help is but a portable hole away."

Snape shook his head. "You are obsessed with the portable hole."

Hermione grinned. "I am happily schooled in the advantages of having one."

"And the dangers?" Snape asked.

"Arguably less danger than others considering what is on the other end," Hermione retorted.

Snape shook his head. "Not everyone with a portable hole can count on there being a rampaging horde of dangerous creatures on the other side guarding all of the important things."

Hermione grinned. "All the better, Master!"

Snape took that moment to realise that perhaps he had corrupted Hermione Granger into a fine example of a Slytherin, after all.

"Fine, bring in the fuzzy and floating then," Alastor said. "Let's clean this place up."

Hermione bounced with excitement, happy to have something to do of a practical nature. She pulled out the portable hole from her already heavily enchanted, reinforced to handle and survive creature teeth, claws—  _lava_ — and whatever else, beaded bag. Master Pennyworth had been fastidious in teaching her every useful enchantment required of DoM field agents, even though she wasn't even cleared for field duty.

Snape  _was_ , Pennyworth reasoned, therefore she had to be ready for whatever might come at her master.

Snape wasn't quite sure if he fully agreed with that logic, but she was happiest whenever she was learning, and learn she certainly did.

An hour later, the house was cleaner than Moody ever remembered any of his places being. The Volcanic Nightmare pups were piled up in the hearth, providing plentiful warmth and light. Wards were in now place, suitably adjusted, tweaked, and redone until Moody declared them perfect. By the end, Hermione was sleeping soundly on Moody's neatly mended and reupholstered couch, sinking deep into the plush cushions as Tesfaye and her cubs lay on top of and all around her.

"I will watch over her if you need to go check on your crew, Alastor," Pennyworth said as he sipped his tea. "I much prefer watching over  _this_ place than wrestling barmy Dark Lords over the last sausage on the platter. Besides, the young lady and I get along famously."

Pennyworth gave Severus a slight bow of the head, and Snape nodded. "Very well."

"Take Grandfather with you," Hermione mumbled into Tesfaye's warm fur. She smacked her lips and snuggled into the purring mother Nundu as Grandfather floated over.

Severus raised a brow as Grandfather made a hissing noise of smug Dementor satisfaction.

Fenrir padded up with a whuff, shaking himself thoroughly from nose to tail tip like he was trying to dry himself off.

"Et tu, Fenrir?" Severus quipped.

The werewolf yawned toothily and wagged his tail.

"Fine," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

The werewolf seemed pretty chipper about the entire adventure, but having an extra nose like his definitely wasn't a hindrance, so Snape readily accepted his companionship.

"Alright then, we're off. Take care of Hermione, Pennyworth. Keep the guests happy while we attempt to end the war, yeah?"

Pennyworth waved his hand. "Off with you, boy."

"I stopped being a boy many decades ago!" Moody objected.

"You'll always be a boy to me,  _boy!_ " Pennyworth muttered, waving him off.

Moody grumbled and headed off with Snape. They disappeared with a double  _crack_.

Pennyworth pet the Nundu cub in his lap, smiling as she purred and rolled over on her back, batting at his hands clawlessly.

"Much finer company  _here_ , anyway," he said, loving on the playful cub.

* * *

"Pssst, 'Mione!"

Hermione awoke, yawning drowsily in her comfy cocoon of warm Nundu cubs.

" _Mione!"_  the familiar voice hissed, slightly shrill with an edge of extreme terror.

Hermione blinked and sat up, Aine groomed her hair until it was sufficiently plastered in a strange formation that looked like a fluffy shrub. "Whaa?"

Somehow her Nundu cocoon had been supplemented with Volcanic Nightmare hounds.

"Tell this ruddy huge beast to let me up, yeah?"

Hermione sniffed, rubbing her bleary eyes, still pretty groggy. " _ **Ron?**_ What the heck are  _ **you**_ doing out there?" She walked over to the window to find Ron Weasley had been pinned in place by a most unamused Aine— outside on the porch steps leading to Moody's front garden.

"Dad brought me here with him. Said Hogwarts wasn't safe right now."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. Even sleep-addled, she remembered well that Ron only spoke to her when he wanted something. "You aren't supposed to be here, Ronald. Where  _ **is**_ Mr Weasley?"

"I dunno. He wandered off, said he had to go do something," Ron mumbled, rolling his eyes. "Dad's always doing that. Usually about Muggle stuff, though."

Hermione, highly suspicious signalled Tesfaye to move off of Ronald, but she did not even attempt to say anything about the house's anti-evil, anti-malicious intent wards. Anyone who neglected to notice wards deserved to get zapped. Hermione didn't control them, regardless. They were Moody's wards, but she wasn't going to say anything. They  _were_ protective wards, after all— all put up for a reason.

Tesfaye padded over to her, having done her job well in detaining the interloper until her mistress was awake. Now, she padded into the house and rubbed up against Hermione and purr-rumbled.

"Blimey, Hermione, why did you get all cozy with a bunch of animals? Studying to be like Hagrid instead of a real witch?"

Hermione frowned. "I wouldn't expect you to understand, Ron."

Hermione pet Tesfaye and sat down, making no effort to try and explain herself to Ron of all people. The Nundu mother "helped" groom her hair that Aine had started, giving her a half-and-half lava sculpted and Nundu swirled hair cone. She felt her hair with a sigh, knowing that as long as it was her hair, she'd never be a model on a shampoo commercial.

At least the beasts didn't seem to care. If anything they approved.

"Just be glad it was Tesfaye that detained you instead of Aine. Aine tends to drip lava when annoyed."

Ron's eyes widened.

Hermione felt a little awkward around Ron— any of the people who didn't understand. It was odd being around people from her "old life" that had shunned her if not for talking to Dementors but for being a traitor Slytherin after Snape had taken her as an apprentice. Then there was the matter of her leaving with her master for private tutelage. No one wanted to imagine anyone being okay with Snape as their master.

Hermione couldn't really imagine anyone else— well she did have quite a few masters to learn from down in the DoM, but Master Snape took care of her, made sure she was safe, taught her in a way she could understand—

They just didn't understand that outside the mass classroom he was a far better person. He just wasn't made for teaching groups of dunderheads who only wanted to pass and do something more "fun."

"The animals going to sit on me again if I come sit down?" Ron asked rather grumpily.

"They won't do anything to you unless they feel threatened," Hermione said.  _Or that I am_ , she added mentally.

Ron shrugged and walked over, muttering to himself in a way that made Hermione's skin crawl.

There was talking to yourself, and then there was talking to yourself like it was someone else. Ron was doing the later of the two. He hadn't always been like that, but ever since their little escapade in first year with Fluffy, falling through the devil's snare vines and the real Wizarding chess game, Ron had developed a bit of a complex. He had started talking to himself, a  _lot_. At first it had been seemingly normal enough; people did talk to themselves, after all, but somehow it had changed. Now, it seemed, it was much worse than she remembered.

She could hear Master Pennyworth talking with someone in the kitchen— Mr Weasley, if she recalled the voice correctly. His voice was not as loud or distinctive as his wife's, but she was pretty sure it was him. A number of other voices were mingled in with theirs— that of the guests for Moody's original housewarming party invite.

The cubs and pups, mothers included, were off mingling and lazing about, mostly sticking close to their mum and thus close to Hermione, but they had distributed themselves around the room in dark corners and under things. There was a pup's tail sticking out under the china cabinet, much to her amusement, and a cub's paw dangling out just under the curtains, apparently one of them had fallen asleep in there.

Most of the pups were curled in a pile in the hearth, making a kind of makeshift living fire, their tendency to stack on top of each other and sleep was much like the normal puppy habits. Aine, on the other hand, didn't like leaving Hermione's side for long if they were away from "home". Whether it was to protect her or just a bit of discomfiture at being away from the familiar, Hermione wasn't altogether sure.

She curled up on the couch with Tesfaye, amused by how her coat matched the upholstery a little  _too_ well. How spots blended in to Scottish thistle patterns boggled her, but magic had a way of making things that seemed  _im_ possible, quite possible, indeed. One thing was for sure, she never wanted to be on the prey list of her Nundu friend. She'd never see her coming.

Almost in answer to things she didn't see coming, Ron headed right towards her looking like he was on a mission, and as he attempted to pass through Moody's newly-set wards, there was an alarming shudder that shook the entire house, and then the shockingly un-manly screaming began.

Adults came rushing through the kitchen doors, and they all took one look and turned green even as Pennyworth had the wherewithal to send out a quick Patronus to St Mungo's.

Hermione, startled, calmed her furry charges first, and then looked over to see that Ron had collapsed into a fetal position on the floor, groaning. His backside had been sheared completely off at the buttocks, having been cauterised by the wards' magi-electrical zap. The shaven off other half lay smoking on top of what had been the rear of his trousers and pants— the horribly twisted face of an angry-looking, much older man with some distinctly less-than-human characteristics was screaming bloody murder from the left cheek of Ronald Weasley's neatly severed bum.

Ron abruptly stopped screaming, having traded agonising pain for a blissful unconsciousness, and the adults were scrambling about, barking orders, warding, re-warding, even as Pennyworth tried to put a containment ward around the amputated bum. Other were struggling to prepare Ronald for emergency Apparition to Mungo's.

" _ **You cannot vanquish me!"**_  the disembodied bum raged. " _ **Destroy them all! Drink their unworthy souls dry!"**_

A dark spectre spewed out of the face's open mouth, forming into what appeared to be a newborn Dementor. The room temperature dropped multiple digits very quickly as a deep hoarfrost covered every surface of the room. The Dementor attempted to float into the house, but the wards held. The creature shrieked as a deep, gnawing hunger filled their minds— but the being was trapped between two of the wards— the inner and outer wards— one to keep evil from coming in and one designed to keep it from escaping to harm innocents.

The Dementor was trapped with only one living "thing" nearby.

Hermione placed her hand on the invisible ward. The Dementor slowly drifted closer, but it was unable to reach her. Hermione's eyes had taken on a eerie, glowing purple. Her voice seemed to float as her eyes gazed through the here and now to someplace distinctly neither.

"They say you are what you eat, but I say one cannot be what you truly are if you are terribly hungry." Hermione's eyelids closed and opened slowly. "You have a choice. Eat and become more than what your hunger makes you. Starve and become the beast everyone believes you to be."

"Become more and be with me— or do not. The choice is yours. What did  _he_ offer you?"

The hungry Dementor floated closer to the wards, his long fingers reached out to the wards. For just a moment, Hermione's hand pushed through it, her fingers aligning with the Dementor's— her tiny fingers rising against the creature's elongated digits.

For a moment, Hermione seemed to weigh the dangers before she stepped through the ward. Her eyes were filled with purple fire, and her skin was alive with magical markings. Fire seemed to crackle forth from her skin like the skin of cooling lava— her skin blackening to the colour of obsidian. The Dementor floated closer— and enveloped her completely. Tattered, frayed robes covered her.

" _ **Hermione!"**_  Master Pennyworth cried out, moving toward the warded barrier. He pulled out his wand, and it glowed brightly as he summoned his English bulldog Patronus. But as the Patronus hit where the Dementor was, it let out a soulful shriek. A swirl of vibrant purple magic created a barrier around them, driving the Patronus away. Rivers of purple miasma flowed off Hermione, entwining with the Dementor's robes and body. Its arms wrapped around her, hands moving gently across her skin like a lover's caress.

Hermione's eyes were closed, and she fell back into the Dementor's embrace, her eyelids fluttering as though she were enjoying a relaxing bath. For a moment, her appearance seemed less flawed. Her jawline was fine, her cheekbones chiseled, and her teeth less like the mammal she was often teased about resembling. Then she seemed to awaken, rivulets of power trailing in her wake as she stood and walked back through the wards.

She stood, turning to face the Dementor. The creature hissed and spun on the one who had "created" it, lowered its head, and began to feed…

And feed.

And feed.

The Volde-bum screamed curses, demanding that the dementor obey it— saying that they were both Dark creatures, but the Dementor continued to feed, pulling the spark of soul from the cursed piece of freckled flesh. Yet, even as the entity trapped in the flesh screamed, it was joined by multiple other screams— blackened vapour swirling around the Dementor, attempting to attack it— other fragments of souls joining in the frenzied, desperate attempt to save themselves.

The Dementor, however, was growing stronger, far stronger than the fragments could even dream of controlling. The tattered black robes were mending, the cloth becoming thicker and more substantial. Deep emerald light glowed from beneath the Dementor's hood. A silver locket hung from the Dementor's neck, transforming from malevolent to purified. A ring set with an odd stone adorned one elongated, skeletal finger— a blackened curse travelling through the Dementor's body and turning into shimmering purple tattoos of magic as the Dark taint was driven out. A diadem with a dull blue sapphire lost its tarnish as it sat on the Dementor's head just above its glowing emerald eyes. The sapphire spewed out a foul cloud of screaming hate and Darkness, but a rampaging mob of  _Monstrous Books of Monsters_  fell upon it, shimmering with bright white purity as they tore the cloud to shreds.

_**Brrrruup!** _

Tesfaye belched up a golden goblet and a cloud of angry Dark soul only for the Volcanic Nightmare pups to let out a chain of lethal volcanic nightmare flaming and sulfurous puppy farts that set the cloud on fire. The charred soul-stuff fell as motes of greyish ash, just as silent as the grave.

The silence lingered like a white elephant in the room as the new Dementor, purged of his hunger, floated across the wards without being challenged. Hermione allowed him to take her up into his arms.

"I think I shall call you Bling, because you have the most of all the Dementors I know." She smiled up at the Dementor's diadem-crowned, glowing green-eyed face. "Do you mind?"

The Dementor shook its head, seemingly okay with whatever she wished.

She slid down to the ground and called the beasts to her, loving on each one individually, making sure none of them lacked fondness or care. "I'm so proud of all of you!" she said with a smile. "Thank you so much for your help!" She smiled at all of them and then her expression became serious. "Now, do not attack Master Pennyworth. I crossed the warding line. I must submit to whatever punishment he deems appropriate."

With that, Hermione squared her shoulders and walked up to Master Pennyworth. "I am sorry, Master, for crossing the ward line and for repelling your spell. I submit myself to your punishment."

Master Pennyworth's jaw went up and down like a fish out of water. Her bond with the Dementors had been grudgingly accepted thinking that only the ones that were with her were neutralised, but the day's events proved that it was not just her known Dementors that willingly submitted to her will.

"Apprentice Granger," Pennyworth said in a half-stammer. "In penance for your disobedience and lack of common sense, I want you to do whatever you can to help stabilise young Mr Weasley for Apparition to St Mungos. He may not be bleeding, but I know you have some things up your sleeve that can make certain that he is stable for transport."

Hermione stiffened but nodded. "Yes, Master."

Hermione closed her eyes, squared her shoulders, and walked over to where Ronald had been moved. The adults had already given him potions, but she could tell from what her master had taught her that they were only staving off symptoms. He would, most likely, be fine, but—

Honour demanded she do her best with him, despite how much she loathed him. She was obligated to keep her master's name clean of dishonour due to her, and she would suck it up and deal despite her misgivings on the subject of one Ronald Bilius Weasley if it meant not bringing shame to her master.

She could hear the adults chattering frantically about what had happened "when the girl had charmed a Dementor" and shook her head. Not  _all_ of them had been DoM— that much was obvious.

She pulled a vial out from her robe pocket. "Bling, do you mind helping me?"

The Dementor floated over, curious.

"I need you to help me activate the potion. Could you place your hands over mine?"

Bling encircled her hands with his, his long fingers like the bars of a cage.

The potion began to glow bright blue-white between their joined hands.

"Okay, thank you, Bling!" Hermione leaned over and kissed the Dementor on the cheek, and the baffled Dementor touched his cheek with one hand in astonishment.

Hermione uncorked the potion and sniffed it carefully, swirling it around and watching it mix. She then put the potion to Ron's lips, wiggled it between his teeth, and the pinched his nose to get him to open his mouth wider. As soon as he did, she poured it into his mouth, rubbing his throat to get him to swallow. Fortunately, he didn't choke or spit it up in her face, and she thanked the cold numbing properties of the potion for that great gift. At least she didn't have to pass it through her mouth to his like some potions.

 _Ugh_ , she thought.  _Gross_.

A hundred Dementor hugs before having to pass a potion from my mouth to Ronald Bilius Weasley. Ew. She knew what (and the vast quantities) the boy ate. No thanks.

The skin on Ronald's bum was starting to granulate, turning from the charred black to a healthier shade of pink-red, treading the line of looking a bit like beef. It was already starting to pull the edges together, new skin seeming to knit in and pull closer. Vessels were growing and the tissue looked— less like a burned hotdog on the grill. If anything, his breathing seemed more even— less pained

She wasn't a professional healer by any means, but she had come to know enough from the testing of her potion under a healer's guidance. Her Dementor-aided potions had all been cleared for use by Mungo's, having no dangerous side effects— still, she didn't use them unless absolutely necessary. There were quite a few that required one of her Dementor friends to be around to activate them. The others, she and her master had filtered off to Mungo's for their trauma-emergency wards. Some went to the field agents such as the hit wizards and witches, while others went to Aurors assigned to far-off places that were not close enough for a direct Apparate to a local hospital. They always made them in small, carefully controlled batches, she and her master, to guarantee that they we made correctly. All the places paid  _very_ well for the service, but there was only so much time in a day and there was only one person in the whole of the wizarding world who happened to have Dementors on hand that were willing to help out with potion-brewing.

"Master Pennyworth, I think he is stable now," she said, making sure to step away from Ronald just in case he tried to reach out and touch her. The mere thought of that made her skin crawl.

"Arthur, you should accompany Ronald to Mungo's and make sure everything turns out okay. I'm sure the rest of your family will want to be notified as well, yes?"

Arthur nodded dumbly, almost zombie-like, but considering everything that had gone down, his behaviour didn't trigger any alarm bells. He shuffled over to Ron, kneeling by his side.

"Hermione, I think it best you stay here with me," Pennyworth said. "Let the others pick up the pieces and file the reports. We do our own reports on what happened here before the others return from Little Hangleton."

Hermione nodded with no small amount of relief.

"Your penance is done, child. Go back to sleep in the guest room, and let the rest of us take care of the clean up."

Hermione stifled a huge yawn. " Thank you, Master Pennyworth."

The older master grunted and shooed her off, and Hermione didn't need to be told twice. She found the side room and plunked down on the soft mattress, snuggling up against Bling as Tesfaye and Aine curled up around her. The pups and cubs mrowled and whined as they tried to climb up on the higher mattress, not quite big enough to make it. One cub seemed to get an idea and used her mum's dangling tail as a rope ladder to get up the rest of the way. The others piled on top of each other to help the others up, but it left one little pup staring forlornly at the top of the bed, whining sadly.

Hermione's hand dipped down and picked the little guy up, cuddling with him as she snuggled into Bling. The Dementor's arms wrapped around her, bringing peaceful darkness and coolness, perfect for sleep, even as the little lava pup kept her core blissfully warm as he settled in to the perfect cuddle in her arms.

As her eyes closed, she hoped that no news was good news and that her master and Alastor would return to her victorious. She also hoped Master Pennyworth would explain all that happened so that she wouldn't have to. Things were getting a wee bit  _too_ complicated to keep it all straight in her head.

She sighed happily, allowing the mixture of cold and heat lull her into the perfect sleep.

When Master Pennyworth came to check on her, he shook his head at the sight of the pups and cubs all tucked in around her, plus one blinged out Dementor, and two full-grown beasts all managed to cram into one bed with her.

Silently reinforcing the wards to keep the bed from burning up (or any of the house for that matter) he reinforced the protective wards around the guest room and shuffled off to continue working on the mountain of paperwork to explain what the hell had happened at Moody's new house while the original team was off saving the world.

So far all he'd managed to write at the top of the report was the name, date, time, and the subject— Voldebum.

Everything else just went straight into the can after  _that_.

Maybe he could finally get the Minister to sanction a paranormal investigative division to the Ministry for things that were strange even to fully magical people. Skulhey and Mawldar would be perfect for that. Those two were like fire and oil, but once they sunk their teeth into something, they might as well be Nifflers with a mountain of gold.

Someone had to have a better name for what had just happened than the return of Voldebum only to be defeated by Bling, the Dementor— guardian of all 5 minutes of one Apprentice hermione Granger.

Maybe he should work on opening the windows and getting the charred butt smell out of Moody's new house. The last thing he wanted was a cranky Auror Moody complaining that they had barbequed someone's arse inside his home.

"Why the  _ **hell**_ does my house smell like roasted pork?" Moody's voice bellowed from the direction of the kitchen Floo.

Pennyworth sighed and walked over. "Do you want the long or the short version?"

Snape grunted, setting down a cage with a small, almost adorable ball python inside it as Lucius, his face as pale as milk and accompanied by a new Mark spider that resembled a fluffy snowball, sat down in the nearby chair.

Snape wearily wove his hand, and a coffee pot, a bottle of firewhisky, and four large mugs that said "I heart Scotland" written on it. He poured the strong black coffee, mixed in the whisky, and passed a mug to each person.

Lucius drank it without a word, the colour coming back to his face— albeit slowly.

Moody chugged his in short order and poured another for himself and sipped less like it was the last drink on earth.

"The 'baby' was guarded by one Imperiused Lucius, who we cured just in time for a gigantic possessed snake to come out and attack him— and  _then_ things went straight to hell as the snake and the Voldebaby began to convulse as clouds of black soul-vapour came shrieking out of their mouths. They tried to go after me, but Snape threw himself over me and that little fluffy spider of his threw something at it screaming "You are not prepared!" and fiendfyre destroyed the cloud."

Moody had emptied his cup again, and he refilled it— again. "So when the smoke clears, there is this wee ball python lying in the dirt and looking mighty confused, the skeleton of a almost-baby-but-not-quite, and Lucius bleeding out after being bitten by ruddy giant snake fangs. Severus put that potion into him thanks to Grandfather here— "

Moody blinked as Grandfather gently took the python out of the cage and carried it back towards where Hermione was. He raised a brow and sighed, shaking his head. "Figures."

"Anyway, Lucius is now the second ex-Death Eater with a pet Mark spider."

" _Oh, hai!"_  the spider said, peering around the room through multiple eyes. " _I'm Baeg!"_

Moody sighed, gesturing at Pennyworth. "Now, tell me,  _why_ does my house smell like roasted pork?"

Pennyworth's eyebrow twitched. "Well, it all started when Arthur Weasley brought his son Ronald to your housewarming party… "

Meanwhile, back in the guest room…

Grandfather shooed the new Dementor away from his accustomed spot, wrapping himself around Hermione as he let loose the ball python. The little serpent slithered up and around her neck, happily seeking her soothing warmth and the shelter of her bushy dark hair.

Bling hovered, seeming like the odd Dementor out.

Hermione's hand reached out and wrapped around his fingers, and the Dementor settled in on the other side of the bed, happily enjoying the warmth of his mistress' compassionate touch.

* * *

**End of Chapter Three**

**A/N:**  I have a lot of extra responsibilities stacking up IRL lately, so chapters/updates/etc will not come as often as you may have become accustomed to in previous months. Thank you for your understanding in this.


	4. Making Hisstory

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard.

 **A/N:**  Thank you for your understanding about my busy life. I read all your comments and it gives me great relief. Thank you all.

* * *

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

**Chapter Four**

_In order for the light to shine so brightly, the darkness must be present_. Francis Bacon

Hermione woke to a soft hissing and tickle as a small tongue hit her ear.

"Mmmph," she said, snuggling tighter to Grandfather. "Just a few more minutes, mum."

Hermione yawned and attempted to sit up, wobbling a little with sleep. The cubs complained that their snuggle buddy was moving, mrowling and fussing their complaints. Grandfather soothed her hair with one of his hands, and she smiled as she leaned into him.

"Oh, you're back," she said. "Did everything go well?"

The Dementor hissed and shook his head slightly.

"Oh, well— at least it didn't end badly." Hermione made a face, unsure if her master would be in a good or bad mood after that description of events. She'd committed a "bad decision" on a logical scale, even if it had ended well afterwards.

A tickling sensation on her ear startled her. Her hand went to her neck and she jolted with surprise. "Oh, hello, what's your name?"

The ball python hung her head, scales seemingly dulling, the mixture of gold ochre and brown-blacks taking a hazy appearance.

"Aw, that's ok. I can give you a name if you don't remember."

The serpent perked, scales less dull.

"Hrm, how about Tanith? It means serpent lady in Phoenician. You're a serpent and a lady, so—"

Tanith hissed her approval, nodding her head.

"It must be hard not remembering who you are, but, I mean, if you want to, you can build a new life with us."

The python rubbed her head against Hermione's skin and then curled up around her neck again.

"I guess that's a yes," Hermione chuckled to herself. She moved her head from side to side to get the kinks out of her muscles and let out a deep sigh. She managed to wriggle out of the bed from between the beasts and stood. Tesfaye licked her palm and let her know she was hungry, and Hermione nodded.

Hermione pulled out her beaded bag and from that pulled out a small, hoarfrost covered box. She opened it, pointing her wand at it. "Finite Incantatem!"

She tumbled backwards as the huge ribcage of something gargantuan filled up half the room. "Oof. I forgot that one was bigger than the others."

Using her wand, she sliced the cage down the middle, giving one side to the Nundu family and one to the Volcanic Nightmares. Tesfaye and Aine pulled their pieces over to the sides and proceeded to munch away as their babies growled and fought over the other ribs— comically so due to the immense size of the ribs. There was enough for everyone and then some.

She cut off one of the large "extras" that was dangling off a broken piece of rib and found Fenrir waiting for her, tail wagging as he silently awaited his share of dinner.

She set it down in front of him and gave him a hug, patting him down and checking his teeth to make sure he hadn't gotten something stuck in there again. He gave her werewolf breath to the face and playfully slurped her cheek.

"Okay, enjoy," Hermione said, and the werewolf plopped down to eat, tail wagging in appreciation.

"Are you hungry?" Hermione asked Grandfather and Bling.

The two Dementors shook their heads. She smiled as Grandfather put his hand over her head and affectionately ruffled her hair. Bling seemed to shuffle, almost nervously, until Hermione gave him a hug, then Grandfather, and bounced out of the room to find her master and whatever company he happened to be keeping at the moment.

When Hermione arrived in the main room, there were far more people in there than she expected. Some of them were scowling and some were simply somber-looking. Others looked like they needed a stiff drink, while others looked like they desperately needed a hangover potion. Her master, of course, had a whisky in his hand, but he was nursing it as he tended to do, making it look like he was drinking more than he actually was. She'd always presumed it was a social thing, making it look like he was mingling when he'd rather not be. Why that was a thing, she wasn't sure, but she had a feeling that whatever company he kept "in the other world" social drinking and other such things were necessary life skills.

She knew better than to interrupt, so she quietly took her place by her master, sitting down in the chair that was obviously set aside for her— either that or no one else wanted to sit by Severus Snape. Either way, the chair was empty and by him, and that is where she wanted to be in a room full of people she didn't know completely.

Tanith curled a little tighter around her neck, just enough to remind Hermione she was there, giving off a comforting warmth even as she shared Hermione's for herself. Hermione touched her scales gently in reassurance, and kept her head down.

"You may think it a small thing," Lucius' voice broke through the low bickering, "but the Imperius by the Dark Lord was unique in that it lasted even after his supposed death. That may be because of these— Horcruxes, you say— but whatever the reason, it is safe to say that if it happened to me, he may have done so again, and he won't care who he does it to. Allies, enemies, it really makes no difference. If he wants something done, he will either threaten your family, your loved ones, or you— and if there is any doubt that won't work, he will use whatever curses and hexes to ensure that you will do what he wants."

"Lucius, I've heard what they did to save your life and rid you of the various curses, but how could something stuck onto the rump of a boy be as dangerous as the man himself?" A wizard that looked a lot like a disgruntled badger, white stripe of hair and all, glowered at the blond wizard.

"I'm sure you heard about Quirrell," Moody barked, glowering at the other man. "If anything having a parasitic Dark Lord attached to any part of your body makes you more dangerous not less."

"We have no proof that these events are connected to Voldebum or even if the events themselves are connected to the actual Dark Lord."

"Ethan, you're a great Curse Breaker, mate, but you're not seeing the obvious here," another wizard said impatiently. "That mutant Voldebaby thing and Voldebum are just two manifestations of proof that the Dark Lord's attempt to become immortal is all  _too_ real. Even Dumbledore tried to tell us that."

More scowls and wrinkled expressions passed around the room.

"Look," another wizard said. "We've all heard about Snape's little beast-charmer, but just because she can wiggle her nose and tell a Nundu what to do does  _not_ make her the vanquisher of the Dark Lord."

"Have you ever tried to tell a Nundu to do something, Higgins?"

"Whether I can command a beast in immaterial to this conversation."

"On the contrary," Snape said, his voice breaking in like velvet venom. "Whether you can do even one of these things that my apprentice can is very material to this conversation, as it was this skill that turned a newborn Dementor to our cause instead of randomly feeding on the Muggle neighbours. Had it not been for it sating its hunger on one half of a Dark Lord possessed Weasley bum, the Horcruxes would not have been neutralised— and that includes one very brassed off, enchanted, magically mutated python, which I might add is quite happily no longer possessed, enchanted, nor mutated."

Tanith tongue-flicked, hissing softly into Hermione's ear. Hermione patted her gently, rubbing under her jaw and over her eye ridges.

"Apprentice."

"Yes, Master?"

"Please have your friends sit in the middle of the room, please."

"All of them?" she whispered.

"Just the ones that are here with you today."

"Oh, okay," Hermione answered. With a silent nod, she closed her eyes, and Aine and Tesfaye padded in, dragging their meaty rib cages with them, their cubs and pups in tow. She carefully unwrapped Tanith from her neck and gently placed her in Bling's outstretched hands. Bling and Grandfather hovered ominously, their hoarfrost extending throughout the room.

Hermione kept her gaze down and subservient, but she could feel her master's amusement as it was very clear who had been given the boon of Hermione's sympathetic magic and thus immunity to her Entourage's special powers.

Baeg quickly wove Lucius a thick silken robe to keep him warm, resting on the wizard's shoulder with arachnid smugness.

"I will take my apprentice outside to clean up the garden.  _Do_  let me know when the significance of being able to command beasts is as unimportant as you say."

Snape stood and left the room the way he was notorious for— robes billowing and leaving a wake of intimidation in his passing. Hermione followed, taking comfort in his standing up for her. Her hungry friends remained in the center of the room, noisily crunching bones and tearing meat from the ribs as well as attempting to get to the tasty marrow from some added long bones.

Zorion and Kai noticed her leaving, their tummies full, and they bounded towards her. Hermione cuddled them but brought them back to the middle of the room. "Stay here for now, okay?"

The cub and pup licked her hands but stayed.

Hermione followed after Snape, disappearing out the front door.

The moment the door latch clicked, the room temperature seemed to suddenly plunge about twenty degrees even as a glowing river of lava crept across the floor towards the gathered people. Alastor and Amelia already had their shoes off as they flipped through the report notebooks as the lava went over their feet and continued on its path, burning and incinerating random papers and unwarded material as it went.

The Nundu cubs tussled with the Nightmare pups, and they cavorted in the lava, sending droplets of heated molten rock and clouds of disease in random directions. Kai led the charge to Alastor's lap, fighting for the dominance to claim it. He snarled and growled, dominating his fellows and then crawled into Moody's lap, wedging his head under his hand for pets. Meanwhile, Zorion purr-cuddled in Amelia's lap, play-gnawing on her free hand as she rubbed her tummy and ears.

Mutterings of commands came from the gathered unbelievers, trying to command the beasts to obey, but one wizard ended up with a mother Nundu standing on his kidneys while another ended up with a Volcanic Nightmare bitch showing all her teeth as she dripped lava drool perilously close to his crotch.

Amelia, flipping through some papers while she pet Zorion, sighed, "Do you hear anything, Alastor?"

Alastor, taking his reheated coffee off Kai's warm back, sipped and grunted, "Can't see that I do, Amelia. Biscuit?"

"Thank you, Alastor," Amelia replied, taking a shortbread finger from the tin and chewing on it.

Meanwhile, a mildly alarmed Hermione was listening to the muffled cries coming from inside the house. "Do you think they're all right in there, Master?"

Severus, cocked his head to the side. "I think they are learning respect on a whole new level for the natural world and its beasts as well as for you. We should not interrupt this most important life lesson. Fortescue's?"

Hermione perked. "Ice cream for breakfast?"

"Are you complaining?" Snape's eyebrow arched in response.

"Never, Master," Hermione grinned. "Let's go!"

Snape's smug smile screamed justice as he held out his hand for her to take. She placed her small hand in his.

_**Crack!** _

They were gone.

… but the screaming continued on.

* * *

Snape watched with considerable amusement as his apprentice was covered in happy, cooing dragonets, all offering her the plumpest roasted chestnuts from their hoard of tasty treats.

"Oh, thank you very much!" Hermione said, collecting the chestnuts in a small basket she had skillfully transfigured from a napkin.

The dragonets crooned and rubbed up against her.

A considerable pile of dragonet-roasted barbeque was piled up in front of them as well— all offerings from the happy little dragonets of Diagon Alley.

A bronze dragonet offered Snape a skewer loaded with chunks of meat and vegetables, and he accepted it gratefully. "Thank you."

The creature seemed to grin, showing all of its tiny, sharp teeth before flying back to the stand it normally worked at.

The vendors seemed baffled as to why their beasts had just sauntered off from duty.

One of the street vendors, after seeing his peers unsuccessfully attempting to lure their dragonets back to work, seemed to realise another approach was needed.

"Pardon me, good miss. I see you are an apprentice. Would you and your master like to sit over here by our booth? In exchange we would provide your meal and drinks for free."

Hermione looked to Severus. "Master?"

"I don't see why not."

And so they moved over to a hastily-conjured table with an umbrella shaped like dragon wings. As they sat at the new location, the dragonets continued to bring them tasty offerings, but they also tended the booth's fires and foods as well— a big win for the vendor with enough guile to know what the dragonets really wanted. The other vendors seemed to only get nasty bites and scratches for their trouble.

What started as an outing for ice cream ended with a dragonet-roasted gourmet meal for two with plenty of leftovers for snacks for her entourage when she returned back to Moody's beast-infested house. Moody was probably laughing on the inside while scowling on the outside, and Amelia was probably laughing on the outside just like she was on the inside. Those that knew Hermione and her beasts would find the entire situation terribly funny.

The others, well, not so much.

If they were too dunderheaded to realise that any person, young witch or otherwise (that could get a Dementor to choose non-violence over merciless soul-sucking, get wild beasts that normally didn't cohabitate to cohabitate peacefully, and charm the entire dragonet population of Diagon Alley into bringing her all the tasty food they could) with her abilities was a force to be respected and nurtured rather than dismissed, well, they  _deserved_ a little reality check.

He knew that Alastor and Amelia wouldn't let things go too far. There was enough mutual respect between the two and the beasts as well as enough familiarity that they wouldn't destroy everything.

By the time they were more than full and ready to check the other stores, Hermione made sure to stroke and cuddle each dragonet, thanking them for their offerings and attentiveness. She carried them back to their perches, kissing them on the head and stroking their backs.

Yet—

As Snape watched, he saw the glowing runes on her skin blaze bright purple with her innate magic. The dragonets sang as one, a throaty croon of solidarity. Runes spread from her to them— unnoticed, perhaps by the casual onlooker. But Severus saw them.

The dragonets were crooning their praise to her, and she lavished them all with love and attention the likes of which they had never been given before.

He knew what a precious thing it was— that endless compassion and the warmth of her touch. She likely had no clue how powerful it was, how powerful  _she_ really was. She knew only what she was given, and she reflected and grew within the pools of what had been gifted her. Severus had no doubt that it had been her parents' love that had tempered her into a being who thrived in such environments of encouragement.

Perhaps, despite their being absent during the time Demeter visited them, the goddess knew that they were not negligent parents but seekers of knowledge— knowledge they fully intended to share with their child when the time came. Only, their daughter had been magical, destined to be far from dentistry long before Demeter cast her mortality to the embers of the hearth.

There was no telling if it was Demeter Herself or some other goddess of the old pantheon that had done it— it was quite possibly a combined effort, for surely Hermione had not only the thirst for knowledge but Artemis' affinity to the wild. She may have been denied the breast of Aphrodite, but there was a wild kind of beauty in her demeanor— buried within, growing within the cocoon of fragile mortal flesh.

For now, however, she was still experiencing the world around her— a world she would eventually judge for its sins and virtues. There was no doubt in his mind that she would remember those that had slighted her as surely as Hera remembered every crime against her.

Of course, it was only natural that, of all possible times, she would be growing up just as a Dark Lord was rising again with a bid to take over the world, and the true natures of everyone around here were proving distinctly less than pure. He scoffed. Why grow up during peaceful times?

But even now, Hermione was gathering her allies— befriending the downtrodden and the underestimated, those that were often judged as being inferior due to being inhuman. She was, perhaps, the polar opposite of what Voldemort stood for. Voldemort used Fenrir and his werewolves to sow discord and murder innocents, savouring the terror he left in his wake, but he  _never_ brought the beasts into his inner circle. Dementors, werewolves, vampires, beasts— all of them were inferior to his greatness.

Yet, his apprentice did not attract things to her for being powerful and eclipsing. She bound the beasts to her will with warmth and compassion. They served willingly, if only to experience her caress. To be near her was enough, and somewhere inside of himself, he felt that same, undeniable pull towards that peace.

At the same time, he was at peace because he was with her, guiding her on her path to become a potions mistress the world had never seen the like before. She looked to him with trust, and he would never break it. Hermione would not become the next Lily Evans.

The boy had let his emotions lash out and destroy what his childhood had built. The man knew better and what to cherish and fight for, and he would be there as teacher, mentor, and comrade for as long as she needed him.

What then?

The nagging doubt in his gut said she would leave him like all his family and supposed friends would and  _did_ as soon as it was convenient to do so. She would just walk out of his life, perhaps with a kiss on the cheek and a fake wish to meet again. She would never return.

A growing voice inside his heart said Hermione was incapable of being so shallow. She might forget some social grace that she was never exposed to as a child, but she was not the kind of person to ever forget a friend— unless that friend told her to leave like her stupid Gryffindor "friends" did. Then, she would simply honour their wishes.

Perhaps, he should amend that by saying she would never forget a  _true_ friend— and she was learning just what that was.

"Don't be stealing my dragonets again, little lady," the gruff shopkeeper said as he put his dragonet back into the chestnut roasting oven and closed the door.

"Stealing would be taking them without your knowledge with the intent to deprive you of their company for my own benefit," Hermione said, her posture stiffening.

"And what was it you were doing then, little lady?"

"Enjoying a modest breakfast with my master," Hermione said, "and thanking your dragonets for sharing their food with us."

"You didn't pay for the food it gave you," the man accused, scowling darkly.

"Is there a problem here?" a wizard in Auror's robes came up.

"This girl didn't pay for the food she was delivered by my dragonet."

The Auror looked at Hermione, who narrowed her eyes. "Did you order food from this man and not pay for it?"

"No," Hermione said, stung.

"She's  _ **lying!**_  My dragonet took her a number of my best chestnuts!"

"Did the dragonet bring you chestnuts?"

"Yes." Hermione narrowed her eyes.

The surly shopkeeper looked victorious.

"But you did not order them?"

"No, I did not," Hermione replied.

The Auror peered into the chestnut cabinet, where the dragonet was now frantically trying to escape. Curious, he undid the latch, and the little dragonet promptly zoomed out, diving under Hermione's hair and disappearing— with two large chestnuts clutched in his claws.

"I fear I must take your dragonet in and charge it for pilfering your goods, sir," the Auror said, utterly deadpan.

The shopkeeper's face turned as red as a ripe tomato. He reached out and grabbed the poor dragonet by the tail. "Fine, I drop the charges." He yanked the dragonet, and the creature's small claws scraped Hermione's neck and shoulder with its frantic scrambling.

Hermione's head shot up, purple fire leaking from her eyes as her jaw set. Her fangs were showing as her power shuddered around her.

Snape was swiftly in front of her, wrapping her up in his voluminous robes and pulling her close to his body. He snarled down at shopkeeper. "You have harmed my apprentice and as her master, I now claim the right of retribution." His wand was out, and before the shopkeep could even release a spell, Snape had transformed him into a squealing swine. All the dragonets from every stall in the alley immediately dive-bombed and chased after him— save for the little golden dragonet the shopkeep had tried to drag away by its tail.

The Auror gazed on Hermione with shock and awe as Snape pulled his robes away from her. A set of beautiful, dark purple dragonwings were wrapped snugly around Snape's waist as she glared balefully out from his side, her eyes still glowing from her anger— but she was holding it back, if but just barely. The little dragonet was curled securely around her neck, anchoring itself to her neck with its tail. The dragonet hissed, and Hermione's mouth opened to mirror it, the magic of the newly-forged familiar bond already blurring the boundaries between species.

Snape put his hand on her head. A brush of hoarfrost and fire passed through his touch, but he could feel her anger fade away at his touch. The wrath faded as she looked up into his eyes with trust and gratitude so deep, Severus could not help but be moved by it. He felt a deep, overwhelming desire to protect her— and in that moment, he would have dueled the shopkeeper to the death for having made her  _cry_ , let alone hurt her physically.

Snape hissed as a sharp pain hit him in the back, and he crumpled to the ground. He could barely feel it through the wave of protective fury he was trying to control in himself to keep from taking on the entire alley if someone even looked at Hermione wrong. His hands splayed on the ground, clawing at the ground as he fought instinct and the desire to tear things to shreds.

Hermione's touch was a beacon— a lifeline back to the sanity of his own, calmer mind. She was there, her wings wrapped around his body, and he surrendered to it— for once feeling the very rightness of magic's wild choice rather than fighting for control of it in one way or another. The pain in his back transformed into sheer ecstasy as the feel of Hermione's wild magick flowed through him, singing through every vein as the snap of their bond as master and apprentice took one more step towards an unbreakable end.

He teeth ground, seeming to jerk out of his gums. He gave out a hissing roar as wings burst from the back of his robes— black with the darkest purple membranes before black. Echos of Hermione's runic tattoos shimmered off them as her power shared with him— transforming him into her guardian in blood and bone, magic and life.

As he stood, his wings flared out and folded around Hermione as she begged him not to try and die on her again. He pulled her to him, teeth bared, enfolding her in a protective wing embrace. "I am not dying on you, Apprentice," he whispered.

She looked at him in wonder, her hand touching his wings with pure fascination.

The dragonet chirred happily, doing a loop de loop, changing from golden scales to blue and white in happiness.

"Thank you, Bertje," Hermione said, giving the dragonet a kiss on the forehead.

The dragonet hummed at her and Severus, happy.

Meanwhile, the Auror had tackled a wizard in the crowd and had him bound in magic as well as cuffed with enchanted manacles. As Severus turned to face the one that had taken advantage of the chaos to shoot him in the back, he tucked Hermione behind him with a brush of his new wings. "Rookwood, to what do I endure the pleasure of your curse to my back? Not that I don't appreciate the added appendages and extra nails to file in the powder room. You do know how I so much love pampering my body."

"Snape!" Rookwood hissed. "You took away my playthings in the DoM, and I wanted that little Mudblood to  _suffer_. First you, then her, and I would happily take her to the Dark Lord and soil her in front of the others!"

Hermione's distress radiated through Snape, and he scowled. Claws he didn't know he had extended like a great cats', unsheathing from inside his fingers with a stretching sound as he walked over to where Rookwood was. "So confident are you? Ready to spill your guts right here in front of everyone?"

"Azkaban won't hurt me, Snape. The Dementors are Dark, just like me."

The crowd in Diagon whispered amongst each other nervously, having recognised Rookwood's face from various Ministry posters.

"Don't bet on that," Severus said, his voice like venom and flames. "You hurt my apprentice— and it will not take long for such news to spread to Azkaban."

"So what? Everyone there knows she's just a worthless Mudblood slag. Deserving of the worst possible fates."

Severus put his face right up to Rookwood's, his obsidian gaze both umbral and smoldering. "I'm not talking about the  _people_."

Rookwood's face twisted in total confusion.

A team of Aurors Apparated in, helping their comrade seize and take a still struggling Rookwood away.

"Master Snape?"

"Hn?" Severus said, his gaze turning to the Auror.

"Could we have a sit down and discuss today's events for my report?"

Snape sighed, his claws lightly scratching the side of his face as his wing automatically reached out and pulled Hermione closer to him to keep her safely out of mischief. "I suppose, but I would prefer someplace less— open."

"The Leaky?"

"That would be acceptable."

The Auror gestured for Snape to lead on, and he did, Hermione and Bertje following behind as the crowd simultaneously came to the conclusion that somehow the man that was terribly intimidating before was even more intimidating now with wings, claws, and fangs— and having seen the situation that gave him it, they couldn't blame it on Dark magic. If anything, they had seen a "cruel" street vendor yank a dragonet by the tail and injure a child, causing a surge of extreme defensive familial magic that transferred from apprentice to master through their bond— and that was a far more positive magic to speak about than to condemn.

"Sir," Hermione said, stopping, tugging on Severus' wing to get him to halt.

"Yes?" the Auror said.

"How much does a dragonet usually cost? If one were to get one at Eyelops or the Magical Menagerie?"

The Auror looked thoughtful. "They are a little more exotic than the owls. I would imagine them being roughly around twenty galleons for a standard fare dragonet and then increasing depending on the breed. Roasting dragonets are known to be a bit single-minded, however, so they cost less than most other familiars."

Hermione pulled out her bag and then another bag from within. She plucked out a number of coins and put them in a drawstring pouch. "Could you see that the shopkeeper gets this to cover the cost of another roasting dragonet? I mean— when he's finished running around and hopefully learning better manners."

The Auror's eyebrows went up. "Sure, lass," he said, surprised at the young girl's generosity. "Dare I ask how long the pig hex will last, Master Snape?"

Severus rubbed his chin with his fingers. "Until he learns humility."

The Auror blinked at that. "Well, we'll just keep it at the vault for him. Might be a while."

Hermione smiled, and they continued on their way to the Leaky Cauldron.

* * *

"You hear about Scarhead?" Draco asked, rubbing Bertje under the chin. The dragonet crooned in approval as Hermione and Draco talked over a butterbeer while the adults chatted away with the Auror.

Hermione shook her head.

"He's at Mungo's. Something happened that caused a cloud of disgusting stuff to spew out of his scar while he was staying at the Weasel's house. He and Weasel are sharing a room, and all they seem to care about is not missing the Quidditch World Cup."

Hermione shook her head.

"Never were much of a Quidditch fan, were you?" Draco asked.

Hermione shook her head.

"Hey, um— thanks."

"For what?"

"For saving my father."

Hermione shook her head. "I didn't. You needn't—"

"It was because of your Dementor potions and your old Dementor pal, the big one that was there, and Fenrir that my dad's okay. So, thank you. I— really mean it."

Hermione looked down at her scotch egg and chips. She nibbled on one of her chips thoughtfully. "You're welcome, Draco."

"Where are your friends anyway?"

Hermione frowned, absently itching her face with one wing spur. "Busy teaching humility."

"Seems to be a theme lately," Draco said with a grin.

"Looking forward to Hogwarts?"

Draco shrugged. "I guess. Father seems to to think I'll be in danger if I don't continue to play the oblivious pureblood git like he's still a—" He nervously looked around, then whispered, "Death Eater."

"To be fair, I really thought you believed it all," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

Draco winced. "It's all I knew. I know that doesn't excuse it, but Father didn't exactly show me there was another side of himself until— well, until Weasel Senior came by. Father kind of lost it— just Disapparated and left Mum and I wondering what the heck had been said. It wasn't until Severus sent word after the big battle in the graveyard that we even knew he was Imperiused."

Hermione frowned. "Wait, you said it was Mr Weasley? Not Ronald?"

Draco nodded. "That's what Mum said," he replied. "I wasn't there at the time. I was off having a flying lesson when he came over."

Hermione looked down at her drink and twitched. "I don't like it."

It was Draco's turn to frown. "What?"

"That day, when Ron tried to get at me through the wards, he said his father brought him there. But if Ron was possessed by Voldebum— he was probably controlling his father. My master said that the Dark Lord's Imperius' lasted even after his death, which is why it's so hard to tell when a supposed Death Eater claims they were under the Imperius— actually proving it— it's hard to be sure."

Draco took a bite of his sandwich, chewed, and swallowed, seemingly in deep thought.

Bertje chomped Hermione's finger, pointing her tail at Snape.

Hermione hung her head and sighed, picking up the dragonet and snuggling her. "You're right, of course."

She slid out of the booth with Draco and took a seat beside Snape, saying nothing, casting her gaze down, but surreptitiously touching one wing to his. She knew he felt it, so she didn't do anything else but wait quietly.

Patience, she had learned, was the key to her master's attention. Pay attention. Do as you're told. Ask questions  _after_ the instructions were followed and not before. Wait for acknowledgment before speaking up. Emotional outbursts were accepted only when it was an emergency and imperative to be addressed in the heat of the moment—

It had been hard at first. She had a tendency to run off at the mouth and hand wave frantically, striving to prove her worth. Looking back on it, she had to admit if she was locked in a room with herself, she'd probably have wanted to murder herself. She was learning, oddly enough because she had to listen to her beast-friends more often than she had to speak to them. Regardless, however, she knew it was better to allow silence fill the empty spaces until called upon.

It was better to be underestimated. That was the  _real_ lesson. The truth would come out in the end.

"Apprentice," Snape's voice broke through her meditation.

"Yes, Master?"

"What is it you wished to speak of?"

Hermione looked up. "Draco and I were talking, and he said that Mr Weasley was the one that visited the night before Mr Malfoy. And Ronald told me that his father is the one that brought him along to Moody's new house, and when Ron was hurt, he wasn't really upset— not at all like he was when Mrs Weasley was brought in for questioning after she hurt you. I think that was pretty odd. Draco also thought it odd that Mr Malfoy started acting strange after Mr Weasley visited— doing things without letting his mum know. While that was not so suspicious for him, it was not normal for his mum to be left out."

Hermione took a deep breath. "And I was thinking that since you said the Dark Lord's Imperius was so long-acting. that maybe Mr Weasley may be under his influence— even after certain bums and babies have been, erm, taken care of."

Snape was silent even as Lucius drummed his fingers against the table, frowning slightly.

"I take back what I said before, Severus," he said. "The girl is quite competent, after all."

Snape sneered at him. "Of course she is," he said through bared teeth, his pointed canines emphasising his snarl. Inexperience does not mean she is a dunderhead."

Lucius splayed his hands in protest. "Peace, my friend. I meant that sincerely and with proper respect."

Snape closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as Lucius attempted to surreptitiously recover from literally being snarled at— with  _fangs_.

Snape licked his teeth as he adjusted himself, pulling on his self-control to still the protective fury that seemed to lurk under his skin. "I'm going to order us another round of drinks and use the loo.  _Do_ try to behave yourselves in my absence"

He stood and his wing wrapped around Hermione to herd her along with him. She meeped and walked beside him, her wing closest to him curving along his lower back to assure him that she was still there and accounted for.

By the time he returned with fresh drinks in hand, sending Hermione to the table with Draco and a platter of assorted miniature desserts and drinks, Alastor Moody had materialised like a spectre, gravitating towards them.

"Finally done babysitting the heathens?" Snape asked with a sniff.

"Amelia has it taken care of— that and those who can't seem to understand the lesson have since been sat upon— what in the holy hairpiece of Merlin happened to  _ **you**_ , Severus?" He stared.

"Bloody Rookwood, a pompous street vendor, a cowardly curse to the back, a frantic newly familiar-bound apprentice, and a heavy dose of sympathetic Wild Magick."

Moody poured himself a cold drink from the pitcher. "Don't let the little lass go into Eyelops or the Magical Menagerie. She'll come out of there with ruddy  _every_ thing."

"What brings you to the Leaky, Auror Moody?" Severus said, one black eyebrow raised in question.

"Rumours of an attack trickling down the Auror gossip line. Why does it always seem to be you right in the middle of it?"

"My superb sense of timing," Snape replied, calmly drinking from his glass. "You might as well sit down and join us for the long haul, Alastor. We have news."

Moody grunted. "Who do I have to arrest this time?"

Snape's grim smile flashed a bit of fang. "Arthur Weasley."

Moody almost spit his beer out on Lucius. " _ **What?**_ "

Moody poured himself another drink and nursed it. "Go on then," he muttered. "Hell, I'm going to need a new notebook after the last few days."

Baeg suddenly popped in amidst a cloud of aether and deposited a new dragonhide-covered notebook down for him, disappearing with a  _fffwwwop!_

Blodwyn appeared with a new travel inkwell and quill and set it down.

" _Amateurs,"_  she sniffed and disappeared with a soft  _pop_.

Moody blinked at the fine new notebook and quill and then the ink. "Thank you?"

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose as Lucius rubbed his temples. "Be careful what you wish for," Severus said with a grunt. "You never know  _who_ might be listening."

* * *

_**Mayhem at St. Mungo's!** _

_**Weasley Matriarch Has Breakdown When Husband is Arrested at Youngest Son's Bedside** _

_Very odd things were happening at St Mungo's this evening when a contingent of Aurors stormed up into young Ronald Weasley's hospital room to arrest not him but his father, Arthur Weasley, on suspicion of being under the influence of coercive magic._

_While the arrest was preemptive for the safety of Weasley's friends and family from whatever unknown "influences" Mr Weasley was under, Mrs Molly Weasley proceeded to throw a massive fit that resulted in a bout of accidental magic that sent everything from bedpans to blankets flying around the floor to wrap up and beat on random innocent bystanders._

_The ensuing chaos took the focus away from Weasley, and he attempted to take a young apprentice hostage in order to facilitate an escape. For reasons that no one can seem to explain, however; Arthur Weasley ended up flat on his face wrapped up from head-to-toe in silk like a snug, oversized infant swaddle._

_His son, Ronald, hasn't stopped screaming since, claiming that huge furry spiders did it._

_No sign of spiders were found on the premises, save for a few small garden-variety specimens, none of which matched Ronald Weasley's frankly outlandish descriptions._

_Master Severus Snape, who had to come to defence of his young apprentice on multiple occasions this last week, declined the traditional duel to the death when his apprentice was directly threatened with intent to cause serious harm, stating that Arthur Weasley was most likely not in his right mind, and dueling someone in such a state would be inappropriate._

_Snape, praised for his magnanimous decision to allow Arthur Weasley to undergo magical therapy and deconditioning, stated his apprentice was well and unharmed from the trauma. Master Snape has been making waves with the unique strength of his bond to his apprentice— the like of which hasn't been seen in a long span of Wizarding history— to the point where they share a preternatural manifestation of magic and abilities between them._

_News of this has caused a renaissance of the time-honoured master and apprentice system. When word reached the other prominent European magical schools, Durmstrang and Beauxbatons both staunchly supported the revival of the old system as being a great tradition that could only help revitalise the way students are taught. Hogwarts, however, protests that while the system may work for well enough for some, expanding apprenticeship would require many more teachers than are currently available in magical Britain._

_As for the fate of the Weasley family, Molly Weasley is currently under a mind healer's care for her breakdown, Arthur is reportedly undergoing extensive deconditioning, and Ronald Weasley is looking to be the recipient of the nation's first magical prosthetic buttocks after a freak accident involving a traumatic run-in with a powerful warding system._

_While some seem to wonder if the Weasley family has somehow collectively offended a higher power, we can only wish the family well in their ongoing mutual recovery._

* * *

Harry groaned. Every time Ron moved, even a little onto his new posterior, it made either obnoxiously loud farting sounds or high-pitched girlish giggles, no thanks to the twins for getting ahold of their little brother's artificial bum and adding a few special… upgrades of their own.

And as if  _that_ wasn't bad enough, every time he walked by someone, they had the irresistible urge to slap him on the arse.

Old, young, even familiars weren't immune.

It was… embarrassing to Harry, and gods only knew how bad it was for Ron.

His twin brothers were scary,  _scary_ people.

"Yeah, well, I took care of it, baby bro," a voice said to Ron. "I sent the formal challenge for a duel to take care of that usurping dragon trainer that mucked up my work at Gringotts so they didn't renew my contract. The dragons Hogwarts ordered for the event, though, that will keep me covered financially until I can take care of it."

" _ **Whut?"**_  Ron yelped, his bum violently breaking wind without his permission.

"Some wanna-be dragon trainer conned the goblins into training their dragons in a different way. They took out my contract to keep training them. Gave it to some upstart rookie. Some self-important chit apprenticing under that greasy old git Snape. I presume it's just some idiot Slytherin he's obligated to train."

Ronald frowned. "Charlie, there's only one person apprenticing under Snape and that's Hermione. Trust me, you  _ **don't**_ sodding want to go there, bro. She's bloody scary-brilliant, and she's being trained by Snape."

"You  _ **know**_ her?"

"She's… er, was in my classes. I reckon that we— well, Gryffindor— really screwed her over a few times. Made her feel unwelcome. My girlfriend kinda took a grudge out on her, and chucked her school trunk out a window in Gryffindor tower. Dumbledore released her to apprentice with Snape, and she was put in Slytherin. Shortly after that, though, she left with him because Snape got some posh offer to work somewhere else. He took her with him. Dad said she's staying at the Ministry now. Somewhere." Ron rubbed his head. "It's all a bit hazy right now."

The door to the room practically blew off the hinges as a half-squad of Aurors poured in along with a Ministry scribe dressed in her bright blue and white official robes announced their position as an official word of the Ministry.

"Charles Septimus Weasley, your declaration of formal duel against Apprentice Hermione Jean Granger has been acknowledged by her master, Severus Tobias Snape, in accordance to her minor child status. He will meet you on the dueling grounds at the Ministry of Magic at seven in the morning sharp. Should you fail to meet Master Snape at the appointed time, your challenge will be forfeit, and you will be stripped of all future dueling rights for any and all purposes. Restitution will fall upon the winner to suggest to the Wizengamot, who will ultimately decide fair resolution to the winner."

"Since you have demanded a magic duel that holds the serious risk of death for a minor child, you will be required to offer valid proof of your accusations after the duel to avoid being charged with child endangerment."

The moment the official proclamation was completed, the scroll turned into magical bindings that shot over to Charlie and marked his wrists with the contractual, formal dueling conditions.

Molly's shrill voice broke the sudden silence, "Charlie, what have you  _ **done?!**_ " The horrified Weasley matriarch was standing in the doorway still in her hospital gown as she had made her way over to visit her youngest son.

Harry's eyebrow twitched as he began to suspect that his "ideal family" was not  _quite_ as great as he had convinced himself to believe.

Charlie collapsed in a chair. "What do you  _ **mean**_ I challenged a kid to a duel?"

* * *

The look on the face of the Weasley in front of him was worth so many galleons, Severus decided as he stifled a smirk. Charlie Weasley, the so-called dragon expert, gawked at his young Apprentice teaching Bertje tricks. Draco extended the piece of food, and the dragonet promptly flew over to land on his wrist and eat it. Each sported dragonhide gloves that looked like a falconry glove with upgrades. The dragonet happily did whatever tricks Hermione so desired, but Hermione was trying hard to teach her signals that didn't "cheat" so Draco could do them too.

Hermione was, as she typically was, a headful of bushy chocolate curls— the most unexpected master of beasts there could ever be. Many were doubtful of her skill until they realised what she worked with— and fearlessly to boot. But it was not only her mastery with beasts that made her special.

She wished to learn everything possibly she could from him— the good, the bad, the neutral, and she did. Everything he taught, she learned, from the lessons he gave her to the very small things he did and she imitated.

At first, he dismissed it as the simple bond between master and apprentice, but theirs was no simple bond. From the very beginning, they had shared a similar harsh betrayal in childhood, a focus born of pain— but they had also shared a powerful bond of magic. Somehow magic was shared between them on a unique, deep, transformative level.

He was drawn to protect her— to the point he would risk his life for hers without hesitation. Maybe that was just the way things were with masters and apprentices, but he hadn't hesitated in responding to the Weasley's challenge on her behalf. A part of him was even eager— chomping at the bit to take the professional dragon hunter down hard— the man who had dared to accuse his apprentice of sabotaging his career on purpose.

Hermione was a great many things, but she was  _not_ a saboteur.

"Master Snape," the Ministry official called from the stands. "As the circumstances of this duel may result in fatality, do you have arrangements in case you should be mortally wounded?"

"I, Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, am willing take responsibility in the case Severus is defeated."

"I, Alastor Moody, am willing to take responsibility in the case Severus is defeated and if by some miracle Lucius Malfoy doesn't immediately demand a counter duel to the death."

There were snickers in the audience and some decidedly pale faces from others.

"I, Amelia Bones, am willing to take responsibility in the case any or all the above need a witch to handle a wizard's duel." Her voice was serious, but there was a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"And for the continuing education of your apprentice in case all of the above should fail?"

"I, Minerva McGonagall, will gladly continue as her master in education should these fine people be blindsided," the elder witch said, stepping out of the crowd.

Whispers went throughout the crowd.

"So noted. Charlie Weasley, do you have seconds in which to stand for you in the case you should fall?"

"I would ask that the restraining order be lifted temporarily so that Molly Weasley will be allowed to stand in the case I should fall."

The official frowned. "You wish to allow your sick mother to stand as your second in a duel?"

"She is not sick, sir, not in any way that would affect a duel."

The official's eyebrows had knit together. "I tend to disagree, but, if she is to be your official second, then it shall be noted that Severus Snape, standing in for his apprentice Hermione Granger, has his second, Lucius Malfoy. Charlie Weasley is seconded by Molly Weasley, who will be permitted on the grounds for this purpose only."

"Please be advised, the seconds are only permitted to battle if danger outside of the main combatants occurs during the duel. They are  _ **not**_ to combat the duelists. Is this clear?"

"Yes," they said together.

"Duelists, take your places. On the count of zero from five, you will pace away to your respective positions on the platform and then proceed to duel until the other is defeated or dead."

As Charlie began to walk to his place, Snape shed his outer robe, giving it to Hermione. "Hold this for me, please. I will be back for it."

"Yes, Master."

"Do not interfere, no matter what happens."

"Yes, Master."

Snape walked onto the platform and turned around, putting his back to Charlie's.

"Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Begin!"

Hermione half-buried her face in Zorion's fluffy kitten fur, not wanting to watch while also wanting to watch. Her other hand curled around Fenrir's thick scruff as she pulled him close. The werewolf whined and nuzzled her, his tail wagging in encouragement.

Snape and Charlie turned around, wands brandished, and while Snape's expression darkened, Charlie's face abruptly paled as he saw Snape's huge draconic wings unfurled from his shoulders. Charlie barely managed to block the incoming spell, and he lunged to the side to send a bola spell zinging outward.

Snape blocked it with one wing, but the magical bola expanded and crushed his left wing, causing Snape to roar in pain. He sent out another spell, and Charlie ducked, but all of his ginger hair from his browline up was completely slashed away, floating lightly to the floor. Charlie threw another spell, and the air was filled with the rattling sound of the draconic shakers used in Gringott's only a hundred times louder.

Snape glowered at his opponent, banishing the sound as he threw another spell as Charlie lurched as his boots stuck to the floor of the dueling platform. Charlie threw a spell that projected razor sharp shards of ice at Snape, but Snape countered it with fire. Snape lashed out with energy whips, and Charlie countered by hitting Snape with a conjunctivitis curse to the eyes.

Charlie saw his opening and cast his next spell, sending a torrent of dragonfire out of his wand to consume Snape's vulnerable form.

But Snape dodged, his cursed eyes still open and seemingly watching Charlie. He let out a vicious hiss as his nostrils flared and he neatly reflected the spell back on the caster, consuming Charlie's body in dragonfire.

Charlie let out an agonised scream, completely unprepared for the counter of his own spell, and he fell to the ground, rolling back and forth in a frantic attempt to put himself out. Snape, still staring, performed a formal bow before stowing his wand and walking very carefully as his hand and feet sought the stairs down.

Lucius grabbed him, guiding him to Hermione, and Hermione quickly gave him a potion from his robes, placing it in his hands. He touched it, uncorking it and sniffing it. Nodding in gratitude, he took a sip and closed his eyes, shaking his head as his vision returned. "You remembered."

"Oculus potion, Master. You always keep one in your right pocket, second down."

Snape sighed in relief and approval. He clasped Lucius on the arm, and the blond wizard returned the gesture. He placed a hand on the dragonet's back. "And thank  _you_ , my little friend, for the gift of your heat-sensing pits."

Bertje crooned, turning bright blue and white.

Lucius touched Snape's left wing, his spell removing the curse that had crushed it together. Snape growled lowly in pain, but nodded his thanks.

"Ladies and gentlewizards, the duel is now concluded," the announcer said, returning from tending to the flaming Weasley. "The conditions for victory have been met, and Master Severus Snape is victorious in defending Apprentice Granger's honour in the matter of the accusation of the sabotage of a working contract with intent. The Wizengamot will meet after Master Snape has declared his request for restitution."

"Charlie Weasley, you have until the end of today to file your proof of deliberate actions against you to counter the charges of child endangerment for challenging a minor child as well as a respected apprentice to a duel."

"Master Snape, if you could send your request for restitution to the Department of Wizarding Duels as well by the end of today, that would be most helpful."

"Of course," Snape replied, giving a slight nod of acquiescence.

Charlie only moaned incoherently from the stretcher as he was carried away to the Apparation point.

"Sentencing may be delayed depending on healer determination of his patient's ability to quill," the official said with a sigh. "You are all now dismissed."

" _ **NO!**_  No, no, no!" Molly wailed. " _ **Why**_ have you cursed my family!" she screeched at Hermione, storming towards her. " _ **Why**_ do you  _ **hate**_ us so much?!"

Molly's path was immediately blocked by a growling Fenrir, the fur around his hackles standing at stiff attention.

Snape stood at his full height, pulling Hermione under his wing and closer to his body, no longer bothering to to make his less or more than human traits any more subtle. "That is  _ **enough,**_  Molly. I have had enough of your fecal bâtonnage to last me a lifetime, and you have managed to do it all in the course of the last few months. Now, before you run at the mouth and accuse my apprentice again for something she hasn't done, I suggest you go back to Mungos and readmit yourself to a thorough examination to determine if you may be under influence of any possible curses and hexes, as well as a full psychological evaluation, lest we find ourselves on the dueling platform again for the second time today."

"Please don't," Alastor groaned. "Mulcahey gets mad as a bloody boiled owl when he has to do more than one duel a week."

"That's pretty mad," Amelia agreed, fighting back a chuckle.

Molly stared at Hermione for a long moment, her face torn between reason and and the urge to attack the girl over her "babies'" misfortunes. She then turned and silently walked back out of the dueling area.

"Let's go home," Snape sighed. "You three might as well come have dinner with us. I'm sure Blodwyn has a seven course meal waiting that could feed an entire army."

Fenrir eagerly licked his chops, and the Nundu cub and Nightmare hound pup both mirrored the action.

They all trailed off to the Apparition point together without another word.

* * *

"Are you quite through dueling this month, Severus?" Amelia asked as Crookshanks buttered her up for tasty bits of her pan-roasted salmon.

"Quite," Severus answered. "If people would kindly stop throwing themselves at my apprentice like she is some conspirator to the Dark gods, it would make life so much easier."

Alastor grunted. "She seems recovered enough from worrying about you." He gestured with his chin to Hermione, who was blissfully partaking of a cuddle with Grandfather, while reading a large tome. The  _Monstrous Books of Monsters_  were all gathered around her as they attentively listened to her read.

"Once she was sure I wasn't bleeding out from some invisible dueling wound, yes," Snape replied with a grunt. "I will admit it is— strange to have someone so worried about my person."

"Some of us  _do_ care whether you live or die, Severus," Amelia said.

"Ah, but which? To live or to die?" Severus replied dryly.

Amelia gave him a look, and Snape lifted his tea to her. "Hermione cares for many things and many people," he said.

"You most of all," Alastor said. "You don't see  _us_ sporting dragon wings and Nundu teeth."

"Ah, but you do have her blessing against her Entourage," Snape said.

"Temporary and that she has to re-bless."

"Yes, but that she can do it at all is gift enough, yes? Even Master Edevane could not do that."

"Hell, we didn't know it was even  _possible_ ," Master Edevane boggled. "She is the first that can understand them beyond body language since the Founders— at least the first that has been on record. There was that talented young wizard from India that seemed quite talented with animals, but it seemed to be a local talent and only with the more mundane animals that did not breathe fire or disease."

"You'll have to admit that one  _did_ have some talent, though, Glen," Amelia said.

Edevane shrugged. "Yes, but he was rubbish outside of India, which did not allow him to teach anyone effectively. He was, admittedly, a great defender of the jungles there. You just couldn't transplant him."

Blodwyn, as usual, had outdone herself, having set out a seven course meal all by herself with poor Baeg trying to keep up. He was, admittedly, more helpful than most, but his skill was a little less polished than hers. He  _did_ keep Lucius fully hydrated, however, so he wasn't a total loss. Lucius said he was loads more competent than Dobby  _ever_ was-

Anything that kept Lucius "happier" was deemed a good thing of late with all the Dark Lord nonsense and random duels.

Severus seemed both sombre and encouraged by Lucius' declaration to provide for Hermione in case he should fall. Purebloods never lied when it came to such matters. It was no secret that the Malfoy family had no history of love for Muggles, yet without the Mark's insidious influence, perhaps he was more free to make his own decisions instead of remaining trapped firmly under the bootheel of his father's dark memory.

Draco, much to Severus' surprise, seemed to turn over a new leaf starting from when Severus had first taken Hermione on as his apprentice, made her a fellow Slytherin, and made it known he was willing to defend her to the death. Apparently, that had dramatically upped the respect level in the young wizard's eyes.

Hermione, despite what she thought, was already training all her charges how to better interact with people. The cubs and pups were all people pleasers, and Aine and Tesfaye were exceptionally tolerant parents as long as Hermione was there to clue them in that the people touching their furry children were to be accepted.

Well… furry, slimy, scaled, or whatever children. They all loved her, and she loved them back.

Dinnertime discussion seemed to focus around how Ronald Weasley became possessed in the buttocks to begin with to what in Hades was wrong with Molly Weasley (or Charlie Weasley for that matter.) Lucius suspected it was something unstable in the Weasley or perhaps Prewett bloodlines that made the Dark Lord's magic find it especially attractive to use.

Alastor, of course, thought the worst of even the best of people after being properly tortured, and having been shoved into a box and used for polyjuice fodder made for an  _especially_ cranky Moody.

He wasn't alone in such crankiness, truth be told.

Still, if anything could break up the cranky factor, it was watching Hermione teach Draco how to cut up pieces of fish, venison, and other meats to feed her charges. Whatever beast decided it had won the lottery in getting to accompany her that day varied. Sometimes, despite what the pups and cubs thought, their mums made them stay home, and Hermione was left with Fenrir and some other beast companion of the day. Fenrir, unlike Crookshanks, wanted to be with her whenever possible. Crookshanks, like most felines, had his own preconceived notions on when the best time to sit in the middle of her business was.

No one told half-Kneazles what proper behaviour was, apparently.

Severus had to admit to himself that since his— transition— he had become much more empathic to the beasts, and they seemed more keen to listen to his requests, or listen to him in general. Either way, he wasn't a fool to believe it was anything less than a priceless gift.

Part of him tried to make him to remember he wasn't exactly given a choice about the change, but the other part of him said there was one. He had felt the pull— the need to protect Hermione, and he was willing in that crucial moment to do whatever it took to be there for her. It had been Bertje's gift and hers combined— a blessing, not a curse.

And now— now he could truly  _fly_.

There was a soft yell of protest as Draco was pinned by Fenrir after having won the chess game, and Snape snorted into his sleeve, marvelling at how it felt to be amused and not have to hide it stringently as he once had.

Hermione's smile was warm as she extended her hand to Draco, and the blond wizard took it with a huff, a bit irritated but not terribly so. He'd seen worse when he watched Pansy and Draco interacting.

Much,  _much_ worse.

Fenrir was panting merrily, tail wagging, and Hermione touched her neck to check if Tanith was there then ran her hand under Bertje's chin. The dragonet had grown almost overnight, shimmering with health and was now the size of a great eagle with wings to spare. Freedom had done the dragonet a great service, and Severus could agree that freedom was highly cathartic.

Blodwyn chirred from his shoulder. " _We should get out and enjoy the cool night air. She likes it. You like it. It makes sense."_

Severus furrowed his brows.

" _Oh, don't look at me like that. You know it's true."_

Severus grunted, sipping down the last of his tea. He stood, beckoning his young Apprentice without a sound, only by demeanor and the subtlest of motions. Hermione hopped up, her beasts in attendance, and she soothed them with her hands, letting them know they could stay and relax. The young pups and cubs seemed dubious. Obviously all the cool stuff was going to happen where she was, and it was only natural that if they  _didn't_ come some horrible, awful thing was sure to happen to her.

The moment they got up, Draco looked as if his absolute favourite biscuit had just been taken away from him, at denied being able to come with. Lucius gave his son a look that wasn't especially friendly, but Draco just pouted in response.

Once Hermione was "free" of watching eyes, Snape noticed how she unfurled her wings a little bit more, stretching them out and grooming them. Bertje crooned with approval, showing her how to properly groom her wings by example. He took note for later, not wanting to make a fool of himself in front of his own apprentice.

"Master, would you like me to groom your wings?" Hermione asked, looking up at him. "Bertje says it's important to make sure they are well-oiled and supple or they may not flex like they need to."

Severus started a little at the suggestion, but her expression was so innocent that he realised she wasn't hiding anything. There was no hidden agenda. There was only an honest offer for a simple, necessary thing. He nodded silently, allowing her to sit behind him. Having someone so  _close—_ to his vulnerable back— was an unreal sensation.

She pulled out a soft brush and worked his wings over, cleaning them of and dust and dirt or debris he might have picked up, then using her wand, carefully watered them down, washing them over. He flapped them when she was done washing, and they dried very fast even in the cooler night air.

She took out a flask of oil and smiled as he realised she was using the oil recipe he had taught her, filled with vitamins and herbs to strengthen and heal skin. She rubbed it over her hands and then smoothed it over his wing membranes, and he had to suppress a groan of pure pleasure as the oil both warmed and soothed in a way he hadn't expected it to. Even with his own recipe, the shock of such tough was more than a little rattling, shaking him to the core.

She massaged the oil into every nook and cranny of his wings, even the wing spurs and down to where his wings connected to his back. With every stroke he was more and more doomed, enraptured by such a simple yet profound thing as compassionate touch. He was clay, and she could have molded him into something monstrous and titanic, drooling with a thousand fangs and the writhing deep dripping from his mouth, and he wouldn't have cared. He understood why the creatures both beast and misunderstood gravitated towards her. Who  _wouldn't_ choose the bliss of such wondrous warmth over the torment of misunderstanding or being caged.

Some, he knew, would argue that many of them were still in cages of a different name, but perhaps that, too, was an illusion. Perhaps they were willing to submit to such boundaries because  _she_  was there, while before they had just lived day to day.

Living with the beasts and entities on a regular basis, he was starting to understand what a gift they had been given in Hermione's well of compassion. She only needed a little crumb of kindness, and she gave it back the world a hundred times over. She was far better than he, who was given kindness and usually looked for the carefully concealed hook that would kill him.

With a silent gesture, he took the oil and brush, and he carefully returned the favour, brushing out her wings for her, washing, and then oiling her wings. She slumped forward, making small sounds of pleasure as he did so, and he could feel her contentment. When he was done, she was a puddle in her own lap, her wings quivering with delight.

He handed her the flask of oil, and she took it. "Thank you," she said with a smile, tucking it away.

"Hn," he replied. "Come. Have your charm necklace on?"

"Yes," she replied with a nod.

"Let's enjoy the skies then," he said, spreading his wings.

They stood on a platform together, and it ported them up to the roof where a few tables and chair sat for people to watch the sunrise or set depending on the weather and time.

The Ministry, despite a number of unsavoury characters, actually had quite a bit of quality places to relax and get away from it all. Hermione and Master Edevane had been working on a sort of socialisation area where the beasts could get used to being around people in a safe environment. It wasn't going to work for some of them— some of them were older and more set in their ways, but for some of the younger and less lethal beasts that were just truly misunderstood, the experience could help bring another aspect of positivity to the Ministry in the form of animal therapy.

While hippogriffs were a little too quirky to be safe around people, even when young, the dragon-bat pups were insufferably cute and happy as long as they had fruit. Phoenix chicks were charmers no matter where they were, and budgie bees, despite their size, were excellent garden tenders as long as you didn't try to squish them. That rule went with just about all of the animals though, humans included.

When they arrived on the roof, there was an older couple sitting together sharing iced tea. They smiled and nodded politely.

"Fine night, Master Snape. Takin' the young miss for a fly?"

Snape nodded silently.

"Muggles are out tonight at a big festival west of here, but the nature reserves up north aren't so busy. Might want to head up north," the elder lady recommended.

"Thank you," Severus said with a respectful nod of the head.

They both fanned out their wings, and Hermione launched Bertje into the air. Tanith tightened her coils around Hermione's neck, not wanting to get accidentally dislodged, and she launched into the air after Bertje. Snape leapt up after her as the updraft carried them both up and away.

Getting up in the air was always interesting. While they could, technically, flap and get airborne, their wings were far more happy with gliding and catching thermals and updrafts, sailing on the currents of air like the condor. There was something exhilarating about falling into the wind and having it blow them up and away, and Snape had to admit that he was echoing Hermione's whoop of excitement as she shared her emotions to the skies.

Amelia had one of the other masters craft them rings that made them look like soaring birds when they flew to keep them from causing Muggle panic— or even Wizarding panic depending on who you asked. It was a great combination in case the Disillusionment he taught her failed, as she was young and "excitable", and excitable made for forgetfulness— even with someone as normally well-minded and practiced as Hermione.

It shouldn't have surprised him how fast Hermione took to anything— practicing everything from Disillusionment to Occlumency to potion making with equal fervor, yet she did surprise him over and over. A little encouragement, a nod, a tiny drop of approval, and Hermione attacked whatever project she set herself on like a bulldog or a Niffler after gold.

Scratch that, if Nifflers were somehow involved, they would probably bring her everything she wanted and then some, singing her praises as they did so. The goblins would either be super excited to see all the treasure she brought back or be really annoyed as all the shiny things from their vaults ended up in hers.

Bertje was happily leading the way north, and the setting sun was casting paint through the sky like a master's brush and lighting up the land and them with oranges and reds, purples, and even a hint of blue. The evening breezes felt wonderful as they glided along, and he had to smile a little at how Hermione dipped and revelled in the joy of flight, as if world was giving her compensation for all the heartache she had been through by gifting her with wings.

Whatever she may truly be, for now she was just growing up, and he was glad she was getting a more positive spin on her life in the magical world. He had to admit that his life was much better with her rampaging through it with him. He even got to, legally even, duel idiots to the death— not that he actually did the "to death" part. It would have disturbed Hermione, and he preferred her undisturbed.

Instead, he settled with wiping the floor with them or humiliating them. Or both.

He cracked a smile. It was like all the things he would like to do to the dunderheads at Hogwarts, only legally able to throw whatever spell he wanted.

Most people frowned on duels to the death with their children.

Psh.

Hermione did a barrel roll, spinning in the air with her wings tight to her body before flipping them out to catch a draft upward and away. She zoomed past him, backwards, and then caught up to him again, the softest brush of her wings against his as she took her place at his side, even in flight.

Bertje was showing her by example all the strange moves a dragonet could do, and since she could do it, Hermione had to try too. She dipped and swirled, darted, and glided, mimicking her familiar and trusting that since Bertje had gifted her wings that those wings could do whatever Bertje could. It was, if a bit naive, logical, but to her credit it was also correct, so far.

He wondered if Charlie Weasley felt even slightly guilty that he'd challenged an underaged witch with the gift of wings to a duel to the death for honour.

Maybe, his cynical self decided, he felt guilty only after realising that the girl could have somehow given him wings too, had he not been such a jackass. Though, truth be told, he didn't believe that Charlie would have qualified for such a gift. If Charlie was the type of person to challenge an unknown person to a life-threatening duel without having done his research first—

Hermione was gliding down to the lake, and she landed on a tree limb bat-style, flipping her legs up clasp the branch with her talons, her changed feet allowing her to cling there upside down. She gave a hearty giggle as Bertje slammed into her arms, and she cuddled the happy dragonet as she dangled, wings half open.

How easily she took to her new gifts— daring to try new things just from watching them first. Was it youth? Bravery?

He tried to remember what he would have done at her age had he been given such talents, but his younger self seemed to scoff at him for being an idiot. Wings didn't just happen to people, his younger self would have said. No, his younger self would never have believed it possible, lest he would have spent a lot of time trying to obtain that dream of flight on his own.

The dangling thing must have come from her dragonbat friends— all of them having invited her to cling to the fruit trees and socialise with them. They kept the orchards in the habitats perfectly tended, relying on them to feed them, and what self-respecting fruit eater would demolish their own source of food?

Hermione flipped herself up and sat on the top of the branch, letting her legs dangle as he landed beside her, grasping the branch with his hands to fall into a sitting position. She smiled as the sunset cast its beauty across the lake, closing her eyes to take in a deep cleansing breath before watching the colours dance and flow.

One wing gently touched his— habit perhaps or simple need to feel something or someone she knew close. It was innocently done; he knew she was a creature of touch and comfort. It had always been so— even when he couldn't allow himself to see it. He stilled the instinctive need to withdraw and snap at her— knowing that such instincts were from a different lifetime and a very different role.

She… trusted him.

And the scope of that trust was legion. She trusted him enough to do as he asked without begging the questions burning in her heart, saving them for when the task was done. That was quite the feat for the little bookworm, who had originally believed all could be found in books: answers and revelation.

Now, however, she allowed him to guide her down new paths and new ways of thinking. New magic came with it, new potions, and new beliefs of what was truly different between the light and Dark.

The truth was light and Dark magic were all magic, but only those born to the Dark used it without dipping into what the Ministry called unsavoury and even forbidden. Dementors and the like were Dark, yet they could not stop being what they were. Dark magic was a part of them.

Humans, however— they crafted spells to do more than what they would normally be able to do, dipping into the light and Dark and twisting it to their own ends. The only difference was, most of the "light" magic didn't require questionable blood, soul, and dangerous deeds— that was the price of dabbling in the Dark when you weren't born of it.

Hermione—

While she wasn't a Dark creature, she was most definitely attuned to both. She was balanced, with the potential of both at her beck and call, but due to her upbringing, she favoured the light yet still found comfort in the Dark's soothing embrace. Had Voldemort gotten his hooks into her as a child— something that, thankfully, his ego against "Muggleborns" would never have allowed him— she could have been twisted into a being that would have devoured the land in Darkness— with no pity or reason to care.

Thankfully, Mr and Mrs Granger, had raised their daughter with kindness and love, and that was what Hermione Granger shared with everyone she cared about.

Her ex-House Gryffindor idiots were complete fools to have spurned her. They just didn't know how badly they had made it for themselves spurning such a gift. It was obvious, at least to him, that there wasn't much she wouldn't do to help a friend or even just someone who had earned her respect. Even now, separated from her "peers" she set herself apart with how much generousity she had despite her differences with "normal" folk. She left money aside to compensate the storekeeper that had owned Bertje, even though a familiar bond did not require it in Wizarding law. She had shared her split of the money for perfect Liquid Luck before she had been apprenticed. She coaxed extra laden combs of honey out of the budgie bees, which she could have easily kept to herself but instead shared the gift of the bees with the DoM. She busied herself working on tasks that n o one else cared to do— simply because she liked being helpful. She did it all while dutifully doing whatever tasks and study he required of her, which wasn't exactly an easy task for a typical student her age.

Even so, since he knew she was a highly studious sort, taking time out for a fly and sunset was both therapy and reward. Snape had to admit that more often or not, nature tended to accept them as neutral allies— as long as the beasts weren't hunting, anyway. How they knew the difference was anyone's guess.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"Would it be too much trouble to see my parents one of these days?"

Snape frowned, privately concerned that her parents might not respond very well to a daughter with inhuman features.

"I wouldn't worry," Hermione said. "Daddy used to tell me he was just waiting for my wings to grow in. Maybe he was right."

Snape blinked. Could they be so understanding? Was it really that simple?

"When did you wish to see them?" he asked.

"Well, tonight is mum's birthday, so—"

"Do you— have anything to bring her?"

Hermione smiled. "No, but I know what I'd  _like_ to take her if the store still has it."

"Oh, and what is that?"

"Funnybunny's Ever-Comfy Pajamas because mum always complains she never wears the right thing to bed because she's either too warm or too cold, and some of Madam Spicy's Dragonfire Mustard because she really loves spicy mustard."

Snape's brow lifted. "Well, let's go see what the stores have then, hrm?"

Hermione beamed. "Yes, Master!"

They launched off the branch and flew clear of the forest, touched wings, and—

_**Crack!** _

They were gone.

* * *

When they landed in the Grangers' back garden, Jean Granger let out a squeal of pure happiness as she scooped up her daughter into a hug, new wings and all. "Hermione! You came!"

Hermione wrapped herself around her mum with abandon, happy to see her parents again. "How do you always seem to know?"

Jean smiled knowingly. "The kitchen lizards got all excited and started making extra food."

Hermione laughed. "Aw, they're so sweet! I didn't realise they were helping you cook!"

"They cook better than your father," her mother confessed.

"Hey!" John Granger protested.

"Mum, dad, this is Master Severus Snape," Hermione introduced. "He's been taking care of me now that I'm out of Hogwarts."

"Ooo, what an expression you have there, dear," Jean said. "I know what will fix that right up." She trudged into the house. "Be right back!"

John sighed. "Now you've done it. She'll be bringing her special tea and whatever scrummy odds and ends she can find. Your winged friends have been completely turning us into a gourmet establishment. Bug free, of course. Oh, and look at you my bonny young lady! Real wings to go with those dreams."

He scooped his daughter up, giving her a hug. "See, I told you you're wings just hadn't grown in yet."

Hermione grinned. "Yes, you did. I brought mum a present," she said, waving the neatly-wrapped parcel.

"Ah, just put it there on the table by her chair. "She'll have to see it to put down the refreshments."

There was excited chatter as a swirl of winged lizards arrived in a swarm and clung to Hermione excitedly.

"What?" Hermione cried. "Daddy, you didn't say someone broke into the house!"

"Oh, those cheeky little tattletales," her father answered, tutting. "It was nothing, dear. Just some guy dressed up like Halloween come early. He was completely done over by the wee lizards. Mum found him bruised, bloody, unconscious and looking like he'd been in a serious fight with a box of scissors. He'd even been neatly hog-tied and gagged with an apple to the face. Short the drama of your mum screaming like a banshee, no one else was hurt. Might be serving some substantial time at Her Majesty's pleasure by now, though. Bloke was pretty strange, blathering on and having a good haver."

Hermione frowned. "What kind of nonsense was he saying?"

"Oh, something about a black lord, dark, or— I dunno, really. It was quite a lot of yammering and not much sense in it to be found. True nutter, he was."

"Dad, did they say anything else? Anything at all you recognised?"

Snape was now looking at Hermione's father with true concern.

John Granger rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "He did say something about someone named Lucius paying for his betrayal. Something about— the wrong sister, drinking the poison cup— it didn't make any sense."

Severus felt Hermione's worried gaze as he sent a Patronus zinging out from his wand. He stared at it as it zoomed away, his dark brows knitted in concern.

"Something wrong?" Hermione asked.

"That—" Severus trailed off. "That wasn't my usual Patronus."

"Your Patronus was a doe, wasn't it?" Hermione asked.

Snape nodded.

Hermione's lessons had made for a chimaera of sorts for a Patronus. Every time she made one, it seemed to rotate through various shapes as if it couldn't make up its mind. Snape, however, had had the same Patronus since he was in school— the doe, the embodiment of Lily.

Somehow, Snape's treasured memory of Lily had shifted— the happiness and utter ecstasy of having lost the mark on the day Molly had inadvertently tried to kill him had replaced that treasured place in his memory.

Now, his delicate doe had transformed into what looked like a guardian s _hīsā_  temple lion-dog— the almost leonine beasts that guarded many a Okinawan house and temple. While such things were normally carved in stone or fired in clay, the Wizarding world knew they were  _real_ — a remnant of when magicals lived amongst the Muggles and protected their families with zealous dedication.

"She's beautiful," Hermione said, smiling.

Snape looked at Hermione, wondering at her ability to accept such things so easily. Despite how commonplace it had become, it still boggled him. In accepting his Patronus, she was, by proxy, accepting a very intimate aspect of himself.

He wondered what Moody would think when greeted by the shīsā.

He wondered what Lucius would think, if Lucius knew about his being able to conjure a Patronus. That was something he kept secret from his old "friend", despite all of the latest drama. It was secret for his own self-preservation. Lucius was not that good at Occlumency, and the Dark Lord could read him like a book more often than not. It was only Lucius' smooth tongue and redirections that placated the Dark Lord— that and the money Lucius had access too. Money— connections.

"Dad, Master Snape will have to bring in some company. Please don't be alarmed, okay?"

Hermione, always on the spot, paved the way so he wouldn't have to.

John frowned but nodded in response, trusting his daughter.

_**Crack.** _

_**Crack.** _

_**Crack.** _

Moody arrived with Savage and Proudfoot in tow— and one proud-looking Nundu cub that was plastered to Alastor's head like a Native American headdress.

"Auch," Moody chuffed, prying the cub from his head. "There now, you did your job. Now be a good little lad and don't breathe on the family."

Zorion tilted his fuzzy head and seemed to shrug. "Mrowl."

"Savage, lock this place down. I want wards on every house, henhouse, outhouse, and doghouse in this immediate area," Moody barked. "Proudfoot, make sure there is nothing dangerous lying around here waiting to be triggered."

_**Pop!** _

_**Poppop!** _

_**Pop!** _

Winged lizards arrived and stared at the intruders, looking somewhat suspicious.

"They are friends," Hermione said calmingly. "That is Auror Moody. That is Auror Proudfoot, and that is Auror Savage. They are free to move about as they please."

The lizards gave them all toothy grins and popped back into the house with a blur of movement so fast, it was hard to even remember they had been there.

Moody looked at Hermione with a look that said "the hell" and "bloody hell" mixed together with a chaser of "buh."

"You know what those are, lass?"

"Winged lizards," Hermione said with a smile.

Alastor shook his head. "Those little fellas are pied dragon lizards and they've supposedly been extinct for centuries."

Hermione perked. "They're pretty plentiful to be extinct," she said with a pucker of her lips.

Alastor rubbed his hair with his hand. "Well, we  _thought_ they were extinct."

One of the lizards flew by and gave Alastor a cup of tea before flitting off.

Moody bit his lip, sipping the tea in contemplation. "How long have these little lizards been with your family?"

"Since I was—"

"Two," John Granger replied, rubbing his chin with his fingers. "She brought home a pair, and they took to the kitchen and began eating all the flies. They grew up fast and started to help the wife with carrying things and tending to the kitchen. More arrived, and your mum simply couldn't say no to them. They are real charmers, helpful, and— well, they seem to take care of intruders particularly well."

Alastor grunted. "Well, first things first. We need to move you two someplace safer, lizards and all— that intruder you had was no simple burglar. It was Rupert Gibbon, a known Death Eater and supporter of all things Dark. Think of a vicious criminal and dip it in extra bits of cruel, and that's him. He's known for thinking poorly of animals, both human and non, and his attitude is none too great either. We'll keep your house here safe in the meantime, but I don't want to risk you both being in danger if he got word to one of his friends before coming in."

John nodded grimly, taking his wife's hand with a gentle squeeze. Jean Granger looked a little rattled that her birthday evening was going from exciting to strange to alarming in the course of just a few minutes. "What can we take?"

"We'll take care of it, ma'am," Alastor promised, "once you are safely away from here."

While Alastor dealt with the elder Grangers, Hermione stood in the garden and closed her eyes. "Everyone! Your attention please!"

Flying lizards came zooming out from every nook and cranny of the house, inside and out. "Thank you for taking such good care of our house! But now we need to move to someplace safer for a while, so please don't think we're abandoning you!"

A swarm of pied dragon lizards flitted about, landing on her, rubbing up against her, tussling, and squabbling over the best perching spots. She touched every one of them, seemingly calling them all by names. They calmed down and seemed to hum together. She pulled out a tin, and one by one fed the lizards stunned and preserved flies—

 _Ah, so that is what she was saving all the flies for after so zealously de-flying the brewing lab,_  Snape thought with a soft chuckle.

The lizards bobbed their heads in appreciation and chattered amongst themselves. They all swirled around Moody's head and then disappeared— along with all the furniture and odds and ends in the house—

And the family.

* * *

"I'm telling you, Amelia, they plucked the location right out of my brain and moved it all in in the blink of an eye!"

Amelia eyed the fully furnished and moved-in safehouse that had someone been transformed into an exact duplicate of the Granger's house only in stone instead of brick. There was a faint haze of lizard activity as they moved things into place,  _exactly_ as it was in the old place, and bumping vases and other things into place with just a few millimeters of adjustment between bumps.

"You rediscovered an extinct species of pied dragon lizards?" Amelia asked, astonished.

Snape and Alastor both pointed at Hermione, who pointed at Fenrir.

Fenrir cocked his head curiously. "Browl?"

"I have Master Keelhaul and Master Stonewell debriefing them and getting them all set up until they can move back home," Amelia said. "It's going well thanks to the fact they didn't lose anything in moving, and now Master Edevane wants to know how the hell extinct and highly coveted pied dragon lizards are not only not extinct but actually thriving with a Muggle family. No offence, my dear, but they had always been something you'd expect in a Wizarding family."

"None taken," Hermione said. She was smiling at Grandfather as he distributed flies to each of the lizards as they flew by to "check in" with her. The Dementor oh-so-carefully made sure each lizard had a plump fly, and seemed to take the task on with enthusiasm. "If you want a breeding pair of your own, Dimitri, the one with the cross on his back in spots, has attracted a female from another territory, and they will be looking for a place with ample insects and a welcoming environment. Sunpatch and Nomad will not suffer them mooching off their territory anymore."

Amelia's jaw dropped as she sent out a Patronus zinging away as fast as she could swing her wand hand.

* * *

_**Granger Family Dentistry Opens in Ministry** _

_**Teeth So Clean, You'll Swear it's Magic!** _

_There is a new shop open inside the Ministry, and you'd never think so many people wanted clean and sparkling teeth! Doctors John and Jean Granger opened a new shop a few weeks ago, and it's already bustling with activity._

_They offer teaching about dental hygiene for children and standard care as well as more complicated procedures that are taken care of so smoothly that many of the new clients have sworn the pair are magical and not Muggles._

_Those stopping by will find themselves entertained by the rare once thought extinct dragon lizards whose very presence seems to take the anxiety out of the visit._

_In partnership with the Paw's Claws Apothecary, they offer a wide variety of potions and oral care products to keep that sparkling smile in your mouth where it belongs. Master Eddington Arbuckle is available on site for any cosmetic charms of a magical nature that do not fit within the normal scope of dentistry._

_Stop by to say hello or have your teeth cleaned. You won't regret it!_

* * *

Harry wasn't quite sure what to think when he sat nervously waiting to hear the Wizengamot's verdict. His healers had assured him that things would be a lot better for him soon, but they hadn't really explained  _how_.

When Head Auror Scrimgeour came out— his hair framing his face like a lion's mane and his dour expression utterly inscrutable— Harry began to worry that he was being sent to gaol or whatever it was wizards and witches went to. Azkaban… that was it.

"Mr Potter," the stern-looking wizard said. "The Wizengamot has thoroughly reviewed your case and determined that you were living in an abusive situation during your time with the Dursley family. You are now to be placed in the care of Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt during your school holidays until your godfather is officially freed and pronounced physically and mentally fit to take on his position as the legal guardian named in your parents' will."

Scrimgeour wrinkled his nose. "Despite my— reservations—that means you will have to go wherever Kingsley is assigned if it would otherwise leave you alone." The older wizard scrunched up his face. "That means you will have to accompany him to the Quidditch World Cup while he watches over Apprentice Granger, as Master Snape will have business he must attend to. I trust this will not be a problem that will require you being reassigned?"

Harry shook his head almost violently. "No,  _sir!"_

His excitement at the prospect of being at the Quidditch World Cup cancelled out any misgivings about being in his former potions teacher's presence… or Hermione's, for that matter.

"Will this be a problem, Mr Potter?" Scrimgeour asked.

"No,  _sir!_ "

Whether the head Auror believed him or not, he didn't say, but his suspicion caused Harry to realise that shameful stories of what the Hogwarts' student body had done to ostracise and drive away the brightest witch of her age had already become common knowledge outside of the castle. Namely, the adults knew what Hogwarts' student body would have much preferred to keep quiet.

Harry frowned. Hogwarts and the Weasley family would have preferred it— as both seemed to have a bit of a reputation now after the teamwork and synchronisation that seemed to define Hermione's potions apprenticeship was the talk of the Ministry for they had developed new life-saving potions the like of which guaranteed a more than comfortable life for the young witch if the rumours were to be believed.

Even Hermione's parents had apparently made the first and very successful dentistry business inside the Ministry, working with the Wizarding community to provide both Muggle and magical solutions to dental care—

Harry watched Scrimgeour go, and then he noticed the wizard stop and talk with a group of Aurors and a very intimidating and familiar wool-clad shape— only the robe moved, unfolding into what was the most impressive pair of obsidian and purple dragon wings he'd ever seen. Wing spurs— the like of nightmares, wickedly sharp and curved, hung from the both tips and the pinnacle of his wings.

Hermione was there, nestled under one wing, and she—

Harry's eyes bugged out.

She rubbed Snape's wing with her own, silently asking for something. Snape turned to her after a while and nodded. Hermione beamed back at him with such radiant happiness that Harry felt a crushing wave of shame for having missed just how joyful his "friend" could be with just a little attention to her needs over Quidditch, food, and— well, everything  _but_ her.

What he would have given for just one small piece of family— something he'd thought he had with the Weasleys. He had been so focused on that driving need that thinking of what Hermione needed had been sadly brushed under the rug.

Too headstrong.

Too study obsessed.

Bossy.

Pushy.

Could never admit she might be wrong.

Looked down on you when she thought you were.

He'd always thought she was jealous when anyone anyone even looked at Ron—

But after everything that had gone down at Hogwarts, Ginny stealing from her and the entire girl's dorm collectively shoving Hermione out, he'd started to think that maybe they'd taken that a bit far.

When Slytherin, on the other hand, didn't even show a lick of problems with accepting her, a Muggleborn witch, as Snape's apprentice, they'd shown up Gryffindor in both manners and self-control, something few had expected of the house everyone believed was full of ruddy Death Eaters.

And— Lavender had almost killed Hermione with the addition of the fire gecko skin, and perhaps it would have killed a few more students had Snape not been paying attention. Hell— if Hermione hadn't been paying careful attention too.

They'd thought her so focused, brewing so intently, that they'd never expect her to notice that slip of ingredients.

They'd been wrong.

Hell, even  _Filch_ had given Gryffindor the stink eye after the entire banishment ordeal.

The Whomping Willow, too, didn't seem very amused— up until the point where it just— left.

Harry had just begun to realise that his ideal family had some serious problems of their own— not that they were exactly  _worse_ than the Dursleys, but they definitely had their own set of issues.

Maybe, he thought, there was no perfect family. It wasn't something his heart wanted to admit in the slightest, however. He still wanted more than anything to believe his parents had been perfect, wonderful people before the Dark Lord murdered them. He wanted so much to believe all the good things he had always dreamed of—of what Hagrid had told him they were like.

He could touch their pictures— see their images so clearly in the Mirror of Erised.

Yet, maybe there was more to them than just those cheerful, happy smiles with his mother's hand making his baby hand wave at the camera.

Maybe.

Remus always talked about them so wistfully—

Surely he wasn't lying.

But maybe— maybe Remus and Hagrid weren't looking at things impartially anymore than he had.

Looking at Hermione giving Snape such a look…

Snape.

_**Snape!** _

Remus had always been such a  _nice_ wizard— kind to him and willing to talk about his father and his mother. Harry had soaked it all up, the stories and the memories, wishing so hard that he could have known them. But Remus had also been trying to hide Sirius Black on the night he had sent Hermione's Dementor friend away with a Patronus.

"Dementor" and "friend" was hardly something he thought should go together in the same sentence. Even knowing what he already knew, that was a pretty hard sell. Dementors were—

Well, Remus was absolutely adamant that they were the most evil creatures to walk, er…  _float_ , across the face of the Earth.

Yet—

One of the scariest-looking Dementors was offering Hermione a huge blackberry swirl ice cream cone, and she smiled at it gratefully, placing a kiss on its cheek before taking the cone and licking it with enthusiasm.

And as if that wasn't disturbing enough, the Dementor offered both Snape and Scrimgeour cones too. A double dark chocolate cone for Snape, and a maple walnut cone for Scrimgeour. Snape nodded his thanks, and Scrimgeour looked utterly gobsmacked, like some miraculous phenomenon had happened right before his very eyes.

The air suddenly became intensely cold, and Harry shivered, rubbing his hands against his arms. A Dementor hovered in front of him and extended a banana split ice cream cone. The Dementor was seemingly decked out in a multitude of shiny trinkets— a jeweled crown of some sort adorned his head and a silver locket around his neck.

Harry gulped and accepted the cone tentatively. "Um, thanks."

The Dementor tilted its head briefly in response and floated back towards Hermione.

Hermione was looking at him, and Harry wasn't sure if he should look away or keep up eye contact. She had this air of watchful wariness about her now and shame tickled at his heart, as he understood that he had played a significant part in putting it there.

And yet… her influence on the Dementors was obviously positive. Ice cream was undoubtedly positive.

"Hello, Harry," Hermione said with a cautious nod of her head.

Harry fidgeted nervously. "Hello, Hermione."

Hermione had finished her ice cream, and used some sort of cleansing charm that washed her hands off and left a soft citrusy scent behind.

"Your ice cream is melting," she said, giving him the arched eyebrow.

Harry startled and attempted lick his ice cream before it melted though the cone and all over him.

"I don't he can be trusted," Alastor Moody barked, "to keep out of trouble when asked. Trouble finds the boy, Rufus. It's proven. His hand or no."

Scrimgeour sighed. "That is why the Wizengamot has him with Kingsley and not some random foster family," he replied. "Kings is no fool, Alastor."

"I'm not saying that," Moody growled. "I'm saying it would be hard for anyone to do their job and take care of the boy and keep him out of trouble. It may not have been his fault directly that the Weasleys went barmy but living with an Auror is hardly a safe life either."

Scrimgeour sighed. "Mr Potter's conditions at the Dursley household were abusive," he said. "The Muggle authorities were convinced that at least the boy had a roof over his head and he wasn't completely starving to death, so it was acceptable compared to other kids with even less. We must do our best to give him a better life."

"Bah," Moody growled, waving his hand and then stomping off towards Hermione. He glowered at Harry even as Hermione smiled at the gruff old Auror.

"Hello, Auror Moody," Hermione said cheerfully.

"Allo, lassie," Moody said. "Waiting on Severus to finish his talks?"

Hermione nodded. "He's always suffering through so many long, boring conversations."

Moody snorted. "Well, that means I'm with you then, lassie. What plans do you have to take over the world?"

Hermione chuckled. "Nothing  _quite_ that great."

"Yet."

Hermione smiled. "My Master said we could go for lunch, if we wished to, rather if you would like to accompany me."

"I wouldn't mind a little home Blodwyn cookin' if that is what you mean," Moody said.

Hermione grinned. "Blodwyn loves cooking, so it's a deal."

"Mind if we join you?" Kingsley said, giving Alastor the eye.

Moody curled his lip. "Just don't summon the Dark Lord or any crotch beetles."

Kingsley visibly shuddered. "No thanks."

"Fine. Just give me a few minutes to adjust the wards to let Potter inside without vapourising him."

Harry's green eyes went comically wide.

Moody took Hermione's arm and they disappeared with a  _ **crack.**_

* * *

Harry stared into the hearth where a pile up of puppies on fire smoldered away in contentment.

Moody thumped him on the head. "Don't stare too hard. Aine is quite possessive of her pups around new folk."

Harry blinked and tried to turn away, but the pups were just so adorable— even if they were half-molten and dripping lava.

Hermione brought over a large shank of something— the fur still on it, and dragged it over to the hearth with her one hand, a levitating spell doing most of the work for her until she released it. It landed with a thump, and she ruffled-played with a giant volcanic nightmare bitch that made Fang look like a puppy. The pups are gathered around the potential meal, growling and tussling.

Hermione, however, cut pieces off the haunch and fed the mother first, at least tokenly, and Harry's eyes bugged out of his head as the bitch licked Hermione's face with her lava-coated tongue. Hermione giggled, ruffling her scruff and giving the beast some sort of hand signal. The hound made a growling rumble, and the pups all attacked the meat as they attempted to outdo each other in the feeding race.

Harry realised with some discomfort that the volcanic bitch was watching him, very, very, intently.

"Don't stare, boy," Kingsley rumbled. "They don't take too kindly to that."

 _But she's staring at me,_ Harry's unspoken protest reared its ugly head.

Kingsley gave him a look that said he knew exactly what Harry was thinking, and he turned away, bowing his head in acceptance. He wasn't used to being under such scrutiny that had nothing to do with his uncle's obsession to find fault in him. For once, he was getting the kind of attention that set him in line for the kind of reasons parents, guardians, or any adult that actually cared about the younger generation would uphold. Hogwarts seemed less strict— there were so many students and only so many teachers, prefects, and heads— yet…

Kingsley seemed to genuinely  _care_. That was an unexpected thing for him.

Harry had only gotten so far with the Weasleys serving as his surrogate family, Just when he thought things were good… things were suddenly not so good.

"Ahh!"

_**Thump.** _

Hermione was wriggling under a pile of large leopard cubs— only they seemed a little bit  _too_ intelligent to be the common, everyday sort of leopard.

"Pffft!" she cried, shoving them to the side. They purred, batting playfully at her face with clawless paws. Hermione grimaced at them, showing her—

_Fangs?_

She snuggled the cub nearest her, baring her fangs and rubbing one side and down the other. The cubs mrowled and rubbed up against her before she put them down. Next to another haunch of meat. She greeted the huge leopard with a hug and rubs, and the beast thumped her down and gave her a good grooming over.

Hermione's poor hair looked like a toddler's clay sculpture. She sighed and felt her head. "It looks horrible, right?"

Harry nodded.

She sighed and shook her head. "I've learned to live with it. Each time she does it, it becomes even more like fur and a mane instead of human hair— I think."

She ran her hand through her hair-mane-sculpture. "Have you been doing okay, Harry? Since.. Well, you know."

Harry made a face. "Good, I guess. The scar is gone. That's a positive thing, right?"

Hermione nodded.

"The insanity with Molly Weasley though—"

Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm sorry you were caught up in that mess."

Harry shrugged. "Not your fault." It was his turn to be thoughtful. "I wasn't a very good friend to you, was I?"

Hermione wrinkled her nose and looked down. "I don't think you ever really  _were_ my friend, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You were always Ron's best mate, but me— you pretty much just tolerated me because I had helped you with homework the night before."

Harry looked down. "He was the first person I met that didn't look at me like I was some kind of freak. His family treated me nice. I wanted a family so much, Hermione, and they seemed so much better—"

"Harry, from what they said at the meeting, it wouldn't take much to be better than what you had at the Dursleys," Hermione said with a nod.

"You were in there?"

Hermione tilted her head. "Of course I was. My master was there."

"Oh, right," Harry replied, rubbing the back of his head with his hand. "I guess I keep forgetting you were basically adopted."

Hermione made a face. "He's my teacher. My mentor, not my father, Harry," Hermione said. "I have quite a few teachers, now, but Master Snape is my provider and teacher. He has the ultimate say on what I am ready to learn."

Harry couldn't help but scoff. "You trust  _ **Snape**_ to tell you when you're ready when he wouldn't let any of us brew anything no matter how hard we tried?"

Hermione schooled her face. "He's not like that when it's not a large class filled with people who'd rather be playing Quidditch or exploding snap and doing their hair or discussing fashion rather than paying attention to what he was trying to teach."

Harry said nothing, but the disbelief was written clearly on his face.

Harry almost flew off the chair he was in when a large, fluffy black spider with a red skull shape on her back popped in along with a tray loaded with a mouthwatering array of sandwiches, homemade chips, bowls of soup, and other refreshments the likes of which he'd not even seen at Hogwarts feasts.

" _Oh hai!"_  the spider said cheerfully. " _You look like Harry. Harrys tend to like toasties. Hrm, how about turkey, Camembert and cranberry? Maybe a goat cheese croque madame?"_ She peered at Harry a little harder with all of her eyes. " _Hrm, maybe cheese and tomato— or maybe cheese and leek. Oh! Maybe. chicken, jack cheese and jalapeno?"_

The spider poofed and returned in a bare second, putting a plate of various cheese toasties on a platter. " _Here you go! I made you a Monte Cristo sarnie. French toast filled with ham, turkey, and Swiss cheese that you dip in syrup. Maple, of course. Thick as taffy. You can use some of the berry preserves if you feel it needs something more. But the cheese toasties will keep you occupied in case your palate rebels."_

_**Poof!** _

She was gone.

Harry just stared, completely speechless.

Hermione laughed. "That's Blodwyn, the most prepared and talented Mark spider in the world, I think."

"Ach, you met the lady arachnid. Good. Treat her right, boy, or there'll be hell to pay. She makes the absolute  _best_ spreads and puts any house elf to shame."

"I—" Harry just trailed off, unsure what to do or say, so he took the sarnie and promptly stuffed his face.

Kingsley, who was more subtly eating his cassava leaf soup, thick with seafood and smoked chicken, just shook his head. "He'll be ruined now. House elves will seem positively prehistoric by comparison."

"He cannot have her," Snape said from the door as he practically whooshed in in a blur of wings and black wool.

"Hello, Master!" Hermione greeted. She rushed up to him and bowed her head, but one wing reached out to brush up against his.

Snape looked down at her with barely a change in expression, but she smiled at him. "Lunch is ready!"

"Excellent," he said with a nod. "I trust you didn't blow anything up in the kitchen," he asked Alastor.

"Bah, I know my way around a kitchen," he retorted. "I can even make a damn fine cup of coffee."

Snape still seemed somewhat dubious.

"I had no idea you had such a talented arachnid, Severus," Kingsley said approvingly. "This cassava leaf soup is  _superb_."

Snape sighed. "It's a curse."

Alastor snorted. "The right kind of curse, if you ask me, lad." He nodded approval.

Mrowl!

Alastor had stopped petting the cub— but there was something eerie about it. Its eyes were an unnerving green that  _glowed_.

"Ach," Alastor sputtered as a molten pup clambered over his lap.

He ruffled and rubbed the pup all over, and the pup happily squirmed and rolled over, exposing his belly.

"Love you too,  _a chuilein._  "

"You spoil Kai too much," Severus muttered as he sat down for lunch.

"No such thing," Alastor said, smirking. He flicked the cooled lava off his face.

"You just want pristine baby skin," Kingsley ribbed.

"That would be the lassie, aye?" Moody said.

Snape snorted. "That ridiculous nickname of hers is—"

"Utterly endearing," Alastor chuckled.

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Demeaning."

"Bah," Kingsley snorted. "It's not an insult, man."

Hermione smiled. "I don't mind."

Snape waved his hand in dismissal.

Harry boggled when Hermione gently placed her wing against Snape's and smiled at him. The dour wizard curved his warm wing around her, his expression softening. His teeth bared in what seemed like a grimace— mouth full of sharpened, dagger-like fangs, but Hermione seemed to beam even more brightly.

Hermione took her place by Snape's side, dutifully serving her master first before herself. She stroked the large fluffy spider that appeared with a freshened teapot, and tickled her under the chin. The spider cooed happily and poofed back into the aether. Hermione waited for Snape to start eating before she tended to her own, tearing into her toasted chicken and cheese sandwich with relish.

Harry practically inhaled his food, the war to devour and savour conflicting with each other. He eyed Hermione with a bit of discomfort, unsure how to feel about her quick adaptation to Snape being her master. Everything Ron had told him had been overwhelmingly negative.

"Slavery is wot that is," Ron had insisted. "You trade off your freedom to some random person who uses you as slave labour, trusting that they won't just use you for however long they want and teach you little to nothing. You're better off at Hogwarts, where you at least can learn what everyone else is learning."

Harry remembered the unmistakable disgust on Ron's face as he spoke of it.

But watching Hermione and Snape interact—

It looked like respect to him. Mutual respect, at that. It definitely wasn't what he had expected to see.

Hermione wasn't the kind of person to support slavery at  _all_ , especially considering her outrage upon finding out about the use of house-elves. And she looked genuinely happy—

Stockholm Syndrome?

Thinking for a moment, Harry shook his head, dismissing that possibility as not very likely.

Hermione was giving him a look that seemed to read his thoughts far better than he would've preferred.

"I'm not a slave, Harry."

Harry jerked his head.

"You're a pretty easy read," Hermione said. She tilted her head, yet it wasn't so unkind as he expected. Or deserved, he privately admitted.

Harry looked down, staring into his tea.

Hermione took in a breath and released it like a sign. "It's fine, Harry. I'm sure you weren't told the truth of things."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm still trying to— understand a lot of things. I found out Sirius Black wasn't trying to murder me, but he's my godfather, and I could have lived with him all this time only he tried to kill someone when he was our age."

Hermione frowned.

"But I'd still want to be with him and not my aunt and uncle. He'd still be— better!" Harry almost-yelled, trying to justify either to himself or Hermione and falling somewhere neither.

Hermione creased her brows. "I'm not sure what to tell you, Harry. I would have a hard time sleeping in the same house as someone who could even think of committing murder."

"But you do right now!" Harry hissed.

Hermione scowled. "That's not fair, and you know it!"

"No, I don't! He's a bloody Death Eater! I heard the Weasleys talking about it. They wouldn't lie about something like that!"

"I'm sure they believed every word, Potter," Alastor said. "Just as I did. But you didn't hear from  _them_ how Molly Weasley cut Severus up in public in the middle of the Ministry atrium accusing him of horrible things just like that. Did you, boy?"

Harry jerked up his head. "But—"

"You're still thinking like they're all perfect, boy,"Alastor said gruffly. "No one really is, but they aren't right either."

Harry had a frustrated look on his face.

Kingsley sipped his tea, then fixed the young wizard with a most serious look. "Harry, one of the greatest lessons you will ever learn in life is that you cannot trust the word of anyone blindly. Even when it comes to those you know and trust, you should  _always_ question how they came to that conclusion. You may agree, yes. You may disagree, but it will and should be your decision based on the complete picture."

Harry made a face and nodded, still not quite convinced.

"I may be your guardian, but it doesn't mean everything I say is right. It  _does_ mean you have to respect my judgement in order for me to properly take care of you, but my opinion is still my opinion, and there is a great difference between opinion and truth, sometimes. The truth can be… fickle and elusive. Just as the saying goes, not all who wander are lost. Not all who do certain things do them for the reasons you think they do. Can you say that you knew Arthur Weasley was Imperiused? Do you think that Charlie Weasley was right to challenge a fourteen-year-old apprentice to a duel to the death was justified? Do you think it was right for a grown witch to lose her cool and attack someone at the Ministry just to show someone how 'wrong' they were?"

Harry winced.

"Life is complicated," Kingsley said. "The bright and shining are not always skilled. The physically imperfect are not always evil and twisted anymore than your aunt and uncle believe you are the bane of all things living for the magic you bear or the parents you once had."

Harry hung his head, grimacing.

The Dementor with accoutrement floated in and floated beside Hermione. A soft hiss and a gush of frozen air came from its mouth.

"Oh! Thank you, Bling!" Hermione said with a warm smile. She reached over to give the Dementor a peck on the cheek. "Master, Bling says that the cauldron is 'sufficiently frozen' for you."

"Thank you," Severus said, nodding to the Dementor. He stood. "I must check on this brew immediately, if you do not mind, Alastor."

Moody grunted. "Tis fine, Severus. Do what you have to do."

Severus looked at Hermione silently. One wing curved, brushing against hers, and then he was gone with a crack.

Hermione smiled at the pup and cub that had leapt into Snape's vacant chair. They lay down, watching her. She soothed them with her hand but did not feed them from the table. They seemed perfectly content to keep her company without begging.

Harry kept staring, unsure of what to think. Hermione seemed to be quite at ease both with authority and her creatures, and he'd never really pinned her for a magical creatures sort— not like the ones at Hogwarts that were always trying to sneak into the forest to look for unicorns. She'd always wanted the approval of her teachers, so that seemed less surprising, but Harry never understood that, either.

Teachers weren't friends, after all.

Friends were what kept you afloat.

Lunch was a strangely casual affair, which surprised Harry. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't the gourmet meal served via arachnid at the stern Auror Moody's residence. He was as sharp at observance as he was vigilance, and he reminded him of Minerva McGonagall in the way he watched everything he did.

Unlike Harry, however, whenever the Auror put his attention on Hermione, she would smile at him, paying attention to whatever thing he snapped at her about as if he'd said it with a smile and hug— things he would have considered demeaning to do.

Washing the dishes? Really? In the ruddy magical world?

Hermione handled the china reverently, carrying them a little at a time to the kitchen, and the smell of lemon-scented soap wafted in from the next room over.

"Have these really been in your family for hundreds of years, Auror Moody?" Hermione asked as she put the china away in the cabinet.

"Aye, lassie. I've had it, and before me my mam, and before that hers," Alastor replied. "Thank you for taking such good care of it."

Hermione beamed. "It's not a problem. I know how much you worried about it when Mr Crouch tried to destroy your home."

Moody grunted. "Feels like they've been around long enough that they deserve a little gentle TLC," he said.

"You can feel the ages they've lived through," Hermione said with a smile. "They want to be used. Touched."

Moody nodded. "You catch on quick, lass."

Hermione beamed at him as she carefully latched the china cabinet and gave it a respectful pat.

Rowrrl.

The couch was filled with a  _very_ large leopard, who promptly made herself at home. She was easily big enough to ride—

"Ready to go for a walk?" Hermione asked.

The large leopard leapt up and stepped over her cubs, dislodging them with fluid feline effectiveness.

The largest wolf Harry had ever laid eyes on— tattered of ear and criss-crossed with battle scars— leapt out from the shadows under the window and tail wagged.

"Oh, you big goof," Hermione said, giving the huge wolf a hug. "Did you finish your bone?"

Fenrir yawned in her face, giving her bone breath.

The Nundu placed a huge paw on Fenrir's muzzle and clawlessly batted him away, breathing a strange green cloud at Hermione.

"Fftttp! No need to be jealous," Hermione laughed. "Careful, we have guests today that aren't immune to you."

Tesfaye glowered at Harry, but Hermione took one hand and guided the leopard's head back to her. She looked her in the eye, and the large leopard seemed to shrug.

"Shall we go, Auror Moody?"

"Do I need to wear the lava-proof trousers?" the Auror asked with a wrinkle of his nose.

"Only if you want trousers when we're done."

The large volcanic hound panted happily, giving Auror Moody a lava-rich slurp to the side of the face.

"Good thing most of my stuff is now lava-proof," Moody muttered. "Well, come on then, lass," he said. "Been a while since we had a good run with the four-legged polo-beasts."

Aine knelt for Alastor to pull himself up and over, and Hermione got a lift from Bling onto Tesfaye's back, and Fenrir thumped into her side and slobbered on her leg.

"Fen!" Hermione laughed at the beast's antics. "Tesfaye gets to have her turn too."

The wolf tail-wagged, ready to go.

"Coming, Kings?" Moody grunted. "You can ride the wolf, if Fenrir is feeling magnanimous."

Fen looked over to Kingsley and tail-wagged eagerly.

"Do I get a saddle?"

"Psh, you can ride a broom without losing your bollocks, you can ride a werewolf."

Kingsley looked dubious.

" _ **Werewolf?!"**_  Harry blurted, his eyes going comically wide.

"Fear not, you, Harry, get the broom."

Harry babbled incoherently as Kingsley leapt upon Fenrir's back like a seasoned wolfrider, with the kind of flair Kingsley was apparently all too good at. A broom smacked into Harry from the cupboard, and Harry stood there stupidly, unsure of what to do.

"You  _ **do**_ know how to use a broom, boy?" Moody barked the question.

Harry startled. "Yes, sir."

Harry had barely managed to mount his broom when the group disembarked as a force seemed to push them out of the house and firmly close the door behind them. Hermione was in the lead, plastered on the back of the giant leopard beast as it ran— so very un-leopardlike— its great strides taking it forward preternaturally fast. Moody was not far behind, gripping into the happy volcanic hound. Kingsley took up the rear, clinging to Fenrir's furry scruff. Meanwhile, the trail of cubs and pups followed, yipping and mrowling with pure excitement as a wave of magic turned them all into riders on horseback as they bolted across the fields together.

Hours later, when Harry passed out cold into some semblance of an exhausted coma on Moody's guest bed, he realised that the  _real_ magic in the world wasn't the kind that came with waving a wand but in the sheer incomparable joy of living in the moment.

Maybe, he thought to himself, there was something more to the world than what he'd thought he wanted, for these people had obviously grasped onto something wonderful, and they weren't even family.

* * *

_**End of Chapter Four** _


	5. Into the Spider's Web

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard.

**A/N:**  CrazyMishka on A03 did a fan art for this story and you can find it under https://archiveofourown.org/works/15654414

* * *

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

**Chapter Five**

_There are dark shadows on the earth, but its lights are_

_stronger in the contrast._

Charles Dickens

Harry fidgeted as he was forced to sit inside a tent while total chaos erupted outside. The Quidditch World Cup had been a glorious victory for Bulgaria, but the subsequent celebrations had quickly turned ugly with the sounds of terrified screams and people fleeing for their lives.

Hermione sat, strangely or eerily calmly— Harry wasn't sure which. Snape had told her to stay put, and she promptly sat in the lap of one of her Dementors and did just that.

Didn't she have  _any_ sense of self-preservation?

Shouldn't they be trying to be anywhere else  _BUT_ in a ruddy tent surrounded by rampaging hordes of screaming people?

When the tent flap opened and a figure dressed in tattered black robes came in, his face twisted into a sneer, Harry's suspicions that he should have run for it abruptly came to a head.

"You," the tattered man seethed. "Kill  _you_ , and everything fixes itself," he said, his expression both paranoid and utterly fanatical.

Hermione said nothing and simply sat there, still unmoving.

The wizard pointed his wand at her. "Avada K—"

His spell was cut off by an agonised scream as Fenrir bit off his wand hand with surgical precision, Aine toasted his crotch with a lava-dripping swat, and Tesfaye gave him a noxious cloud of virulent disease direct to the face.

The cubs and pups snarled and growled, hissed, and made themselves look bigger and more "dangerous."

Hermione made a gesture, flinging something at him, and one "small" ball python turned into a  _very_ large ball python. She let out a distinctly annoyed hiss as her fangs wrapped around his head at the neck, and her coils curled around him like a steel trap, squeezing his body until Harry could hear the bones cracking over the shrill screams— and then even the screams ended.

The body fell to the ground in a broken and bleeding heap. with a touch of burning as well.

Tanith slithered over, shrinking herself as she went, climbed up Hermione's body, and wrapped around her neck once more.

Fenrir was still savaging the limp body, tearing at it with his teeth and claws.

"Fen."

The werewolf instantly looked up.

"Leave it. You have no idea where that's been."

The werewolf seemed to ponder that a moment before rubbing his muzzle over the tattered robes to clean off the gore before bouncing back to her side and flopping at her feet like a loyal hound.

Hermione opened up a tome and proceeded to read like there wasn't a gored and charred body lying nearby.

" _Hermione!"_  Harry hissed.

Hermione looked up. "Yes, Harry?"

"What are you doing?!"

"Staying put, just as my master told me to."

"You were just attacked by a mad wizard! A Dark wizard most likely!"

Hermione eyed the corpse dispassionately. "Now a very  _dead_ wizard."

"The  _ **HELL**_ Hermione?!"

Hermione frowned. "What, Harry? Master Snape said to stay put, and that is what we did. We cannot be faulted if we had to defend ourselves."

"That wasn't defending yourself! That was—"

Hermione's face darkened. "Was what, Harry?"

"I mean—"

"Was  _what_ , Harry?"

The tent seemed to get both colder and hotter at the same time. Aine stood up, growling, and the Dementor that was holding Hermione in its lap turned its hooded head towards him with an almost audible creak.

The tent flap opened before Hermione said anything further. A dark-haired, somewhat familiar-looking wizard walked in, leaping up over the charred body with hardly a blink.

"Time to move, Her-my-own," the wizard said, putting out his hand.

Hermione jumped up, putting her much smaller hand in his. "Okay, Viktor. Lead the way."

The older wizard nodded. "We go now, 'arry," Viktor said, abbreviating his English. "Follow."

"Get on Tesfaye," Hermione said. "She can help you quickly clear the way," she told Viktor, ignoring Harry's comically gaping maw.

She leapt up onto Aine, hugging the Volcanic Hound's neck as Fenrir gave Harry the eye— and it wasn't exactly the trusting kind of eye.

"Climb on Fenrir, Harry," Hermione bossed.

Harry eyed the werewolf, thinking death by Death Eater sounded like a much better end than being savaged by the enormous canine.

"Fen, let him on, we have to go!"

Fenrir gave him another skeptical look but then knelt for Harry to get on. He was barely even seated when they all took off like a shot, a gesture of Viktor's wand taking the tent with them. The surroundings were a blur of smoke and fire as their mounts streaked their way across the camp, but he couldn't tell where due to the smoke and the breakneck speed at which they were going.

He barely had the time to realise that Quidditch hero Viktor Krum, pride of Bulgaria, was leading the way on what might as well be a gigantic warcat.

They didn't slow down or stop until they were deep in the forest, and Kingsley was already there talking with Alastor.

"Thank you, Viktor," Amelia said, as she walked out of a dense cloud of smoke.

"Not problem," the Bulgarian said in broken English. "Good thing made introductions earlier or I vould be—" He frowned hard, mentally translating. "Cat food."

Hermione hopped off Aine and gave her a hug as the large Dementor landed.

"Please make sure Master Snape is okay," Hermione asked the Dementor. "Thank you, Bling!"

The Dementor nodded and floated off.

Fenrir dumped Harry into a nice, juicy mud puddle and jumble of tree roots, unceremoniously humping his leg as he went by.

"Fen!" Hermione scolded, and the werewolf bounded over to her, tail wagging with a wolfy grin plastered to his furry face. "Psh, you shouldn't do that. You  _know_ him."

Fenrir eyed Harry mistrustfully, letting his mistress know that he did, indeed, know Harry all  _too_ well.

Blodwyn suddenly appeared, laden with soap and a bucketful of lemon-scented water, dumped it over Harry, scrubbed him unmercifully, and then disappeared with a distinct squeak of annoyance.

Baeg appeared right after her, dumping rinse a bucket of water on him, but missed one half of his body, making Harry look half-soapy— literally.

Harry's face went Gryffindor red with embarrassment.

Viktor stifled his chuckle against the back of his hand as Hermione snickered into Fen's fur.

Aine stared at Harry, joined by Fenrir, and he was made chillingly aware that they didn't trust him any more than any other stranger— perhaps even less due to his less-than-stellar history with their beloved mistress.

Hermione, for all her good cheer and politeness, remembered her history with Hogwarts all  _too_ well. While the cubs and pups milled around, seeking pets from Kingsley, Moody, Amelia, Hermione and even Viktor, they avoided Harry completely, shunning him as they saw their mum do— or glaring at him as the case may be.

"Do we know who they were after, Severus or Hermione?" Amelia asked Viktor.

" _Ne_ ," Viktor replied. "Seem to want either to suffer. Most went after Master Snape. Only one evaded me to get to tent— vas vith—" He seemed to think for a moment. "Strange group. Seem like— orphans. Young ones, really young ones, some in their teens."

Amelia narrowed her eyes. "There are a few charity seats for the orphanages," she said. "Where did you see them?"

"Vest seating. Towards the upper box seats," Viktor said.

Amelia thought a moment. "Sounds like McAuley Orphanage for war children," she said. "All of them had both parents lost in the war. They were given prime seats to bring them something less depressing in their lives."

"Some may have had grudge," Viktor said with a nod.

"You did very well, Viktor. They certainly have an excellent training program at the Bulgarian Ministry."

"Hah," he replied with a cheeky grin. "Must come from parents beating it about the head to keep me alive."

"Either way," Amelia said. "Thank you."

Ministry people were rapidly gathering in the area, all of them accusing random people of having set the sky ablaze.

Looking up, Harry saw a strange, almost fluorescent green cloud, shaped like a skull with a serpent emerging from the mouth. It was oddly un-shaped, as if it was going to come apart at the seams, as if the caster hadn't known quite how to form precisely what they wanted. It floated, unmoving, grotesque but swiftly falling to pieces. The shape dissipated and it soon became just another cloud in a darkened night sky.

A dark figure came out of the smoke, decked from head to foot in blacker than black. A gold and silver mask shaped like a snarling skull adorned the face. They threw a trembling shape down in front of them. The Ministry people panicked, throwing spells in the general direction.

Viktor threw himself over Hermione and Harry as the spells went flying— not coming from the Death Eater, but having ricocheted off them.

"Stop that this instant!" Amelia yelled, but the panic of seeing a Death Eater made her orders get lost in the heat of the moment.

In the chaos, no one noticed the trembling figure the Death Eater had bring out his wand and point it at Minister Fudge.

_**Clack!** _

Fenrir's teeth clamped around the wizard's wand arm, having missed the wrist.

_**CRrrrrrACK!** _

The werewolf severed the arm up to the shoulder joint and ripped it off with a savage shake of his jaws— the shorter jaws of the werewolf putting considerably more power in his vice-like grip than even a brassed-off Nile crocodile.

The man screamed shrilly, his voice hitting the highest registers of a Molly Weasley Howler as Tesfaye viciously clacked her fangs only a fraction of an inch from his face. He clutched the bleeding arm, already showing signs of severe blood loss and shock, even as he desperately tried to escape. He lunged towards Hermione and Harry, but Viktor turned and whirled, his body twisting sharply as he turned— his arms to wings, feet to wicked talons, size from wizard to something bloody enormous to the point of myth.

_**SCREEEEEEEE!** _

The roc screamed with rage as his foot talons lashed out, and—

_**SNAP!** _

The would-be assassin was crushed by the dagger-shaped talons of what most would have thought to be a purely mythical beast.

The roc flung the remains into the nearest tree, the surrounding trees tilted and uprooted as its huge mass took up more space than they had. The roc quickly shrank back down, transforming into the young Bulgarian wizard; his face was dark and glowering with rage.

As the Ministry officials struggled to stand up from the powerful wing buffets, Hermione rushed toward the Death Eater and slammed into him, her wings wrapping around his back as his unfolded from his body and took her into an embrace.

"I am undamaged," he soothed the witch.

"They  _ **attacked**_ you!"

"They tried," he said grimly as he swiftly banished the silver mask. "Amelia," he said. "I'm afraid you must have a leak in the DoM, for our safe zone was not to be shared with any outside Ministry officials."

Amelia hoisted Auror Bernice Burns up with her arm from sheer rage, slamming the startled witch into the roots and dirt of the trees Viktor had uprooted while in roc form. The witch had multiple deep feline scratches across her face as Crookshanks had done his own share of damage to the Auror's face. The furious feline had then leapt up into Viktor's arms and proceeded to rub all over his robes, getting orange and white fur all over him.

Amelia glowered. "I should have suspected when I saw two copies of our locations on your desk, but I had presumed, just as you expected, that you were simply working extra hard and keeping a copy in case another Auror needed the information. You, however, are now officially sacked, effective immediately. You are also under arrest for the attempted murder of our Minister for Magic as well as starting a wand fight with our known agent upon his reporting into our safe zone, endangering minors, and consorting with Dark wizards and witches."

"You killed my  _ **PARENTS**_ , you monster-loving  _ **FREAK!**_ The Dark Lord promised my family greatness, and you killed them! You ruined  _ **EVERYTHING!**_ " the blonde Auror screamed, apparently finding a second or third wind as she broke free from her magical restraints and made a beeline for Hermione.

The ground froze in an instant, hoarfrost covering every surface as dark spectres rose up from the Earth and captured the ex-Auror in their icy embrace. The cold became even more bone-chilling as Grandfather let out an unearthly shriek, and the gathered Dementors all opened their mouths and fed—

...and fed.

...and fed.

Ex-Auror Bernice Burns, fell to the ground, her eyes glazed over as she stared into nothingness.

Grandfather floated over to Hermione, seemingly giving her a good look-over, making sure she was whole and unharmed. Hermione accepted his fond embrace as the other Dementors milled about, all waiting their turn to make sure she was okay as well.

"Going to be hard to prove that one was guilty with her soul gone," one of the other aurors said, frowning.

Grandfather handed Amelia a frost-covered vial, chilled so cold it was almost untouchable. She looked it over and found that there were shimmering memory strands dwelling within.

"Thank you, Grandfather," Amelia said with an appreciative smile. "That's just what we needed."

* * *

_**Death Eaters' Family Members Attack Quidditch World Cup!** _

_**Hidden Auror Spy Dead and Would-Be Death Eaters Captured!** _

_The Quidditch World Cup gave Bulgaria a stunning victory over Ireland only hours before a renegade group of Dark Wizards and Witches consisting primarily of Death Eaters' orphans and widows used their remaining resources to unleash danger and terror throughout the family-friendly campgrounds._

_While names are currently being withheld until any and all possible cohorts can be determined, many were arrested at the scene and have already been sentenced._

_Auror Bernice Burns, who was found to have conspired with the attackers, lost her life in the aftermath. No further details regarding Burns' death have been released at this point._

_Many of the rescued families have expressed their sincere gratitude that prepared parties were there before things any got worse than they had. The main attacks seemed to have been focused on Ministry personnel and Minister Cornelius Fudge himself._

_Minister Fudge declined to offer any comments on the matter, citing it to be an ongoing investigation._

* * *

Hermione sat at her desk, dutifully finishing the last of her required studies for the day just as Crookshanks put in a belated tuna breath-laden appearance to sprawl across her desktop like it was his throne and swat Fenrir squarely on the nose for daring to sniff him too closely.

The werewolf gave the half-Kneazle a grumbling stare and laid his head in Hermione's lap to soak up her idle pets.

However, Potter's visit that morning had not gone quite as well as Kingsley had hoped.

While the boy  _had_ seemed to pull his head out from between his arse cheeks, at least on some level, Hermione's all-too-vivid memories of how he'd abandoned and left her to face the attacks of her fellow Gryffindors all on her own remained a top issue. She was perfectly civil, even caring enough not to put him in  _too_ much danger with her beasts, but she never once gave him the blessing to be safe around them. He had to be as careful as any ordinary witch or wizard would be in the presence of dangerous magical creatures.

Snape knew it was something she had to deal with. Betrayal was an injury that left no physical wounds— but the healing of such things was long and often delayed.

What made the situation worse was the fact that Viktor Krum was a welcome visitor in Hermione's life— and Mr Potter's blatant hero-worship of the Bulgarian roc Animagus resulted in him trying to make nice with Hermione, just so he could get an in with Viktor.

Viktor, however, seemed very aware of this and made a point to enjoy Hermione's company instead. For once, Hermione had the interest and friendship of someone who was quite human, and she chatted with him or tolerated the wizard watching her intently as she studied.

She told him that she was well-used to it by now. Very few of her friends  _didn't_ watch her intently, and it just happened to be that he was human.

Viktor's last year in school would be, ironically, at Hogwarts instead of Durmstrang, due to some sort of Tri-Wizard Tournament that was being held between Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. Yet, before that drama took place, he spent his time as a guest of the DoM, being debriefed by Amelia over the state of the High Master of Durmstrang, and other such official duties.

The rest of the time, he visited with Hermione, watching her tend her entourage and study like it was the most fascinating thing he knew of.

"You no trust this— Harry?" Viktor asked.

Hermione shook her head. "He supported my entire dorm shunning me when I first met the Dementors."

"People change, da?"

Hermione sighed. "Maybe."

"Still no trust him?"

Hermione shook her head. "No."

Viktor smiled. "Is no badness in not trusting someone proven to be untrustworthy. You can reevaluate this in future and change mind. No wrong in that. But also— no wrong in feeling dis way. Someting dat strong must take time to heal. More time even to prove lesson vell learnt. Da?"

Hermione smiled at Viktor. "Thank you, Viktor."

"Browl!" Fenrir laid his head over Viktor's, panting happily.

"Hullo dere," Viktor said with a laugh.

"He likes you."

"Am glad. He big enough to eat me."

Hermione laughed. "He wouldn't eat you. You're too interesting to eat."

Viktor smiled at her. "You wish to fly? Great coast in place called Cornwhale."

"Cornwall?"

Viktor shrugged. "Know the place in head; name not so much. If your master say okay, of course."

Snape looked up from his desk. "I will accompany; however," he said, looking toward the mantle. "Please feed your friends before we go so they do not miss you overly much."

"Yes, Master!" Hermione said with a brilliant smile. "Come on, Viktor, you know you want to feed the hydra!"

Viktor beamed. "Absolutely."

The pair shuffled off to feed the many mouths of the DoM magical creature collection, and Snape could help but feel a stab of pain wondering it would have been like to have had such a warm spot in his life back when he had been their age. He quickly dismissed it, going back to his paperwork as he waited for them to return.

* * *

The return to school had Ronald Weasley very, very grumpy.

Bad enough his family was looked down upon in every way, that he had to use second or third or even fourth hand everything, that his reputation was literally the arse end of Voldemort, and that he had to go and get his school supplies with Bill instead of his parents.

Bill was a serious party pooper. He wouldn't let him go into Quality Quidditch Supplies until he'd gotten all his other supplies first. He kept Ginny from doing the same, and it made Ginny pick on him more. That made him even more grumpy.

Ginny blamed him, of course, for ruining her chances at Harry. She also blamed him for all kinds of  _other_ stupid things too, so it wasn't exactly anything new for Ron.

The big event at Quality Quidditch Supplies was a guest appearance of the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team. An offer for free autographs on official team merchandise was drawing people in long lines out the doors and far down the street.

Ron wanted to go immediately, but Bill yanked him by the collar to get his supplies for school first. The other stores were practically empty because everyone was queued up at Quality Quidditch Supplies. What was Bill thinking? School supplies were every day. Meeting the Bulgarian team was far more important!

If they didn't hurry, they wouldn't be able to get anything for the team to sign!

Ron grabbed whatever was on the list, tapping his feet impatiently as Bill checked off everything and sending him back to get the right cauldron. His mum never did that. Then again, his mum insisted on getting everything for him.

By the time they had finally gotten everything, Ron tore off towards the only store that mattered to him, leaving Bill and Ginny in the dust.

The lines were less, but the store was still packed full, and the Bulgarian team was surrounded in fans. There were a few angry fans from Ireland that had to be escorted out when the spell-flinging started, but they soon learned that the Bulgarian team was not unpracticed in martial spellwork in the slightest.

Ron finally got in, and he spent all the remaining money he had getting a new poster to have it signed, cursing at his brother for making him buy stupid school supplies instead of letting him get a snitch or a broom or something better like one of those sweat bands worn by one of the team. Now  _THAT_ would be something.

When Ron finally got to the front of the line and handed over his poster to have it signed, his jaw dropped completely as he saw the bushy haired know-it-all Dementor-lover sitting with the team. She was the very last person he'd ever expect to see at a Quidditch shoppe, and it churned his stomach that the one who supposedly saved his life from "lifetime of enslavement to his own arse" as Fred and George put it was here, reminding him that he wasn't safe from her anywhere.

As the team quilled their names on the poster, he saw Viktor— VIKTOR KRUM! — lean over and listen to something the little chit was saying, a smile on his lips.

No!

That wasn't right!

Famous, wonderful, talented Viktor Krum did not associate with, with— girls!

Well, Lavender was okay because she never minded what he was eating or if he wanted to hang out and play Quidditch— she was especially more attentive since she and Parvati had been separated for their own good. Feh. They'd only done what was natural to some freakish Dementor-lover. There was no way Viktor Krum could possibly find that bushy-haired aberration interesting!

The table burst out in Bulgarian laughs and chatter.

"No, Her-my-own, that means lumber. You called Sergei a lumber-face."

The younger wizard thumped Hermione on the back. "Vill take lumber-face as name from beautiful vitch," he crowed.

Ron's stomach churned.  _Beautiful? Her? No way!_

They handed him his signed poster as someone behind him shoved him out of the way to get their turn— gushing praises and worship at the team.

Ron tried to say something, to get in his allotted time after waiting so long, but he was pushed aside by the other excited fans.

"There is plenty of time; you don't have to push and shove each other," the know-it-all admonished.

The line grumbled at her until the team all made the same, scarily similar face.

The line promptly stopped shoving and let Ron shuffle back over, but when he opened his mouth to say something suave and meaningful, all he could make were random babbling sounds before he blurted, "I really  _ **love**_ you!" He hadn't really  _meant_ to say it right to Viktor's face, and the Bulgarian raised a dark brow at him.

"Appreciate fans," Viktor said. "Be sure to catch us next season after break."

Ron babbled everything from his birthday, to how many chocolate frog cards he had, to how many times he wanted to be just like him in a highly embarrassing stream of consciousness ramble in his most fluent dingbatese.

The Bulgarians all stared blankly at him, brows furrowed.

" _ **IRELAND FOREVER!"**_ a voice cried, and a burst of blue of light came whizzing through the crowd toward the Bulgarian team.

_**Bssshshhtzzz!** _

Bling floated in between the team and the attack, having taken the spell directly to the body. Part of his robes were tattered as a dark green-black slime dripped from the hole.

Aurors appeared out of nowhere.

_**Crack.** _

_**CRacK!** _

_**CRACCCKK!** _

A man was quickly tackled as he attempted to flee out the store's front door.

Hermione pulled Bling away even as Grandfather appeared, having seized the interloper's throat in his gnarled hands as hoarfrost quickly spread through the entire store.

Hermione had her hand over Bling's wound, having torn part of her robes and poured potion on it, pressing it over the ragged and dripping gash.

The Bulgarian team immediately leapt to her defence, ringing around her as they defended her as well as themselves. Hermione hugged tight to Bling, even as she kept his wound dressed, and the room seemed to explode with malevolent protectiveness as a dark shape materialised out of the ground like Dementor— darkened wings unfurling as wing spurs flashed.

Alastor Moody stepped out from the potion master's wings, a look of savage fury on his face as he barked orders to all the Aurors.

Within a few minutes, the store was eerily quiet as the Aurors led out a a party of sulky young wizards and witches who had been attempting to steal the Bulgarian team's mascot, but having failed in that decided that making trouble at the signing was the next best thing.

Severus immediately came to Hermione's side, checking her over while checking Bling over to see if there was any lasting damage. The "younger" Dementor seemed no worse for wear. The wound was healed, and the Bulgarians had given him "robes befitting the hero of the Bulgarian team", decking him in the black, red, and white of the team colours, complete with team emblem on his chest.

Bling seemed to shuffle and blush, as much as a Dementor was able.

Grandfather hovered, looking over the other Dementor like an older generation scoffing at the younger's choice in bad fashion.

_Kids. Their stuff is weird._

"You are uninjured?" Snape asked.

Hermione nodded. "I'm fine, Master."

Fenrir arrived out of the crowd carrying a box clearly marked " _WWW for Mischief and Mayhem: Tools For All Occasions_." He dropped the box and it opened exposing individual boxes marked " _Glorious Graffiti," "Troublesome Treats," "Deceptive Distractions," "Ear-Shattering Explosives",_ and " _Peruvian Darkness Powder for Quick Getaways"._

Snape's eyes narrowed as Moody looked in and scowled. "What  _is_ this WWW?" Moody barked.

Ron quickly and quietly made his escape from the store as someone from the tabloids snapped a photograph.

* * *

_**Dementors Save Bulgarian Quidditch Team from Expulso Curse Cast by Irate Ireland Fan** _

_You may not have been in the Quidditch Supply Store yesterday, but thousands of others were,_ _and they were witness to an Ireland team's fanatic fan trying to serve up some "justice" to their hated adversary._

_A small group of disgruntled Ireland Quidditch fans came into town intending to steal the Bulgarian's mascot, the golden vulture, from the team's shared quarters in Diagon Alley. However, since they could not manage to find the team's rooms, they decided instead to march on over to the Vratsa Vultures' fan autograph session at Quality Quidditch Supply to cause chaos and mayhem. Having loaded up on a considerable amount of "liquid courage" at Knockturn's infamous Naughty Mermaid Tavern, they attempted to prove that the Bulgarians weren't anywhere near as great as their ardent fans made them out to be._

_Fortunately for the Bulgarian players and their fans, two Dementor familiars of the now infamous young Apprentice Granger put themselves between the factions and prevented a considerable amount of costly repairs and damages to both patrons and the store._

_The two Dementors, we have been informed, are named "Bling"and "Grandfather" and the duo have been awarded golden snitch pendants from the store and Bulgarian team robes for their part in saving the day._

_After the drama of the day, the owner of the shop declared, "Say what you will about Dementors, but they saved my store and our guests. They'll always be welcome to visit our establishment."_

_The Bulgarians stayed an extra day to meet with fans to make up for it, much to the fans' delight. Nimbus Broom company had a specially-designed broom crafted and auctioned for charity to commemorate the event._

_The broom features a handcrafted ebony and silver stick with the signatures of the entire Bulgarian team etched into it. It features red bloodwood inlay and the best charmed twigs available as well as a custom racing stand for perfect parking and lift off._

_The lucky winner of this fabulous grand prize will be notified by owl as soon as the entries are examined to ensure that the lottery will be as fair as possible._

_Good luck!_

* * *

One happy little Nundu kitten had her head on the edge of the table staring intently at Snape as he scribbled away at a number of scrolls. She daintily placed a well-loved bird toy on the table and mrrrrrttt-meowed at him.

Snape, without even lifting his head, picked it up and threw it.

The Nundu cub tore after after it, bowling over a pack of startled Volcanic hound pups in her eager pursuit.

Blodwyn appeared within a poof of vapour. "Snack time, master! Don't neglect your health and hydration!" She set out a plate of finger sandwiches, biscuits, and a pot of tea for him, plunked in some sugar cubes, added milk, and stirred before disappearing with a slight  _pop_.

Snape stared at the timely offering, sighed, sipped the tea, ate about three of the sandwiches, and went back to scribbling.

The Nundu cub was back, the bird toy clutched in her jaws.

Severus rubbed her fuzzy head with his long fingers and gave the cub a small tug of a smile, took the bird, tossed it, and enjoyed the ensuing mayhem as she bowled over the poor, unprepared pups— again.

Aine looked down at her baffled pups with a seemingly amused cock of her head.

As the cub bounced back, Tesfaye tripped her cub up with one huge paw, snagged her paw around her, and dragged her under her legs to pin her down for her evening bath session.

The cub squirmed and protested before flopping down and submitting to her mum's ministrations.

Severus' desk was located in various places, depending on the time of day. He moved it around depending on where Hermione was at the time Sometimes it would be under a shady tree, sometimes inside, sometimes somewhere out in the habitats. He made a point to be near where she was in case his presence was needed, and she seemed to take comfort in his always being there— something he still had problems coming to terms with. A twinge of memory of his one-time supposed best friend could barely even touch him back in the day.

Hermione, however, was different. She was so open with her affections and genuine in her feelings. It angered him to know that her former friends could cast such a thing aside for any reason.

Snape knew the true value of such compassion— such warmth.

Turned out that she was was far less of a hand-waving know-it-all when she had someone who genuinely listened to her, guided her, and corrected her when she went astray.

All she needed was a little nurturing and she would do almost anything for you, as the Bulgarian team and the DoM had learned quite quickly. In befriending her, they gained the protection of her entourage, and that was no small feat either.

While the main member of her entourage usually consisted of Fenrir, the Dementors, Nundus, and Volcanic Nightmares, there were far more just waiting on the sidelines for her attention, eager to mete out whatever justice in her name that they could. The dragons in Gringotts all loved her. The hydras constantly buttered her up for oiling and fishing. The minotaur let her braid his mane with flowers. The rainbirds would happily follow her around and summon storm clouds to rain on the gardens of her choice. The Peruvian Chaos Weaver spiders would gleefully spin her silk slippers and even bed linens and dressing robes depending on how inspired they were allowed to be— and Hermione was anything but someone who stunted any of the abilities of her beast-friends— or any friends as it was.

The latest addition was a fey dragon that liked to infest his desk by turning into an ink pot or a quill and giggle hysterically when he tried to use it. If you didn't mind the giggling, it was actually his best quill. Sometimes, said fey dragon would turn into an exact copy of a certain silver tabby or even Crookshanks and there would be two of them soaking up sunbeams in random areas.

Minerva had become an insufferable pest, refusing to let go of her deep concern for Hermione's welfare, even after or rather especially after her House's shameful sins against the young witch. The elder witch visited them frequently, often on weekends, tutoring the younger witch in the more subtle arts of Transfiguration.

Severus tolerated it because he knew he'd get grief from the elder witch if she couldn't stick her feline nose into Hermione's education— even when she knew that Severus was no slacker in making sure Hermione lacked for nothing in the ways of education. Hermione herself practically absorbed lessons from everywhere and everyone at the DoM.

Minerva was, despite it all, a caring individual, and he knew that she had suffered greatly in realisation of the sins against Hermione's being driven to his apprenticeship. Driven, however, really wasn't the right term, though. No one who saw Hermione's beaming smile or experienced the warmth of her very regard could truly say she was being forced into anything she didn't want. Her emotions were plain upon her face.

Unlike so many others he knew who hid their true faces behind so many layers of mud and obfuscation, Hermione only hid it when she knew it was required of her. Here, in this sanctuary, however, she could be herself. That was something many would do much for— if they even knew what to do with such a gift.

Bling, ever-attentive and decked out in shiny things, took his turn serving as Hermione's comfortable armchair as she read her workbook. The creatures gathered around her like attentive parishoners at a sermon, seemingly happy to simply be around her in whatever she was doing. Grandfather was carefully brushing her out hair and braiding it back into a war braid.

The smaller weaver spiders took turns neatly wrapping her hair in smooth, silken ribbons, freshly woven, and pulling her strands in place until her braids crisscrossed down her back in an intricately complicated weave.

" _Job's done!"_  they proclaimed, skittering off to repair their webs and rid the DoM of their pesky flying insect population.

Hermione turned and touched Grandfather, taking his hands and placing her cheek against his gnarled hands. The Dementor floated closer, gently brushing her cheek with one finger. She closed her book and tucked it away with a smile, giving it a fond pat before closing the satchel.

"Have you finished your lessons for the day?" Snape asked.

"Yes, Master."

"Delivered the dragon-batlings to Master Manfred?"

"Yes, Master."

"Delivered Master Manfred to Madam Bones for his yearly checkup?"

"Yes, Master."

"However did you manage to get in there?"

"Taught the batlings to glare at him until he went."

"Excellent." He scribbled on the last of the scrolls. "Do you have any questions?"

Hermione sat at the desk, her head tilted in contemplation. "If you mix moonstone in with comfrey, would it counter the effects of the wound binding or assist in cooling the compress—- provided Dementors were not involved?"

Snape tilted his head. "It would enhance the cooling effects due to the natural vibration of the moonstone. Powdered at least. If you failed to powder it sufficiently, it would most likely counter any positive effects you are attempting to imbue into the potion."

Hermione seemed to ponder the idea with extra zeal. "What if you added dirigible plum juice harvested at midnight as a numbing agent?"

Snape stroked his chin with his fingers. "It would have to be counterbalanced with another agent to keep the fruit sugars from interacting with the base depending on when you added it."

"A few drops of red wine vinegar—"Hermione said thoughtfully. Then she exclaimed, "No!  _Rice_ vinegar. The red wine vinegar would tip it the other way and the white vinegar would be too strong."

Severus nodded in agreement. A mild vinegar  _would_ work better.

Hermione beamed. "Thank you, Master!"

Her wing stretched out and she itched her hair with one wing spur and then itched her wing with her hand with a frown.

"Come, sit by me," Snape said, knowing what she needed without it being said.

Hermione schooched her chair over to his side, and he pulled a bottle of special oil he had brewed. He poured the oil into his hands and gentle massaged it into her wings. "You've neglected your wings while taking care of your charges. You should always make a little time for yourself."

Hermione, however, wasn't listening all that well; she flopped forward in a slump of pleasure as he attended her wings. They fluttered almost imperceptibly to the naked eye, but he felt them tremble with his touch.

"Thank you," she whispered, barely audible, but Snape's expression softened at her gratitude— so easily gained.

The truth was, he didn't mind oiling her wings for her. The sheer addiction to the warm of touch was oddly addicting. He'd shunned contact for so long. But she—

The feel of her at his side, the soft brush of her wing against his, her hand brushing against his wrist to get his attention, and the way she'd slither in behind him under one wing to put him between herself and people she didn't know or trust—

How different it was to be— trusted.

How he'd craved such small touches as a child only to get threatened by his father, fearfully and barely enthusiastic touch from his beaten mother, and then only swatted for being "mean" from Lily. The few times she'd come to him for comfort had been rare. She'd sought his company to get away from things, and that had often included the lack of touch. By then, Severus had begun to think it was just normal not to have such things, but now—

Hermione was taking her turn with the oil and rubbing his wings. She took on the task dutifully, carefully ensuring every scale and skin was glistening and saturated. She didn't even ask; she presumed. Yet—

He couldn't snap at her for such lack of decorum. Instead he tried not to slump on his desk, arms flailing and wings twitching with the utter pleasure of her warm attentiveness.

"You are very tense, Master," Hermione said as she worked his wing muscles as she oiled them. "Have I displeased you?"

"No," he said, frowning. "Why would you think so?"

"You get tense when I do something wrong when I brew."

"That is quite different. If you do something wrong when you brew at your level, things could blow up."

Hermione, thoughtful, worked on his wings a bit more dedicatedly. "Okay."

And that was that. She accepted.

She trusted that he wasn't lying to her.

Thump.

Severus' eyes widened as she lay against his back, her body pressed against his freshly oiled wings as her arms wrapped around his body. "Thank you, Master," she said, snuggling into his body with such genuine happiness, he couldn't even protest.

When she pulled away, gently placing the oil bottle on his desk in front of him, the lack of her warmth against him was like the vacuum of space.

She trundled off to the kitchen to start preparing the evening meal, and Severus busied himself in cleaning up the scrolls that had to be sent out and those he was keeping.

He couldn't help but understand why the Dementors— hell, all her charges— were so fascinated by the one, little witch, whose heart was big enough to hold them all with equal measure.

Plop.

Fenrir dropped the stuffed rabbit on a stick (some strange toy someone had made for him in the DoM) on the desk, his tail wagging furiously for him to throw it.

Severus took the stick and threw it, and Fenrir bowled over both the Nundu cubs and the Volcanic Nightmare pups to tear after it.

Snape's smug smile was his only response.

* * *

Hermione sat having tea with Argus Filch as her master was consulting with Lucius Malfoy over the new potions curriculum. Mrs Norris was tolerating being groomed by Fenrir and then taught the curious Nundu cub that had tagged along the finer pleasures of catnip mice.

Filch's room was well taken care of, all of her adjustments were still just as she left them. It amazed her, as she'd really thought he'd customise it to something he'd like

Zorion mrowled and cuddled with Mrs Norris, and the elder feline calmly tolerated the younger cub accosting her person.

Filch seemed genuinely happy to see her, and Hermione was very glad this was so. She didn't mind the long stares from the other students and the furtive whisperings when she had someone friendly to talk to. He was more than happy to learn about her ever-growing furry entourage, and he even gave Zorion a homemade leather-worked collar with a small crystal bell, all of it made from scrap that the students and staff would leave about the castle— cast aside because it was easier to get a new one if magic didn't fix it.

Zorion wore her new bell chime proudly, making soothing tinkles whenever she pounced, yet strangely remained silent when she was stalking.

"Nundu magic," Hermione said with a shrug.

Argus laughed and agreed.

Zorion, ever the charmer, had Argus wrapped around her paws within no time at all.

Whatever discussions were going on between Snape and Lucius Malfoy, however, remained unknown.

When dinnertime came along, the train of students going to the great hall made noisy proclamations of the dinner hour.

Blodwyn appeared in a poof of vapour. She sat on an ornate looking picnic hamper. " _Picnic? I packed you up a nice dinner. Severus is buried in paperwork and will not be joining you, unless he manages to wiggle away from Lucius."_  The spider rubbed her abdomen. " _Not likely though."_

Hermione picked up the spider and snuggled her. "Thank you, Blodwyn!"

The Mark Spider ran about in circles, deliriously happy.

"Shall we?" Hermione asked Argus.

Filch smiled warmly at her. "How could I possibly turn down such a grand invitation?"

Blodwyn scurried up to perch on Hermione's shoulder, and Bling scooped up the picnic hamper before anyone else could, carrying it with him as they walked outside.

The sun was setting quite beautifully by the lake, and they set up a large blanket on the lakeside. Hermione pulled out shrunken rib from the hamper and enlarged it for Zorion, who happily made herself busy gnawing and scraping all the meat off the bone. She placed out dishes and trays containing strawberry spinach salad, melon and prosciutto skewers, medium-rare roast beef and Gruyere cheese on fresh-baked croissants, chilled asparagus spears with citrus vinaigrette, stuffed mushrooms and cherry tomatoes and a glorious selection of miniature sweet and savoury tarts. She gave Mrs Norris a small bowl of fresh salmon patè and served Argus first before making herself a plate.

"Thank you, Blodwyn!" Hermione said. "You make the most scrumptious dinners. So does our master, but you both put me to shame."

The spider bounced. " _It's okay. You have plenty of time to learn! I love cooking. Just don't let Baeg near the kitchen. He burns everything."_

Argus tilted his head. "Who is Baeg?"

Blodwyn shook her head. "He's another Mark Spider. I think he fell on his head at birth."

Hermione snorted laughter into her sleeve. She pulled out a beef shank from the basket and enlarged it for Fenrir, who gently took it between his jaws and padded off to the edge of the blanket to being his chewing.

Hermione pulled a small tin out of her robes and pulled out a preserved and very plump fly, holding it out for Blodwyn. She pounced on it quickly, silking it up out of habit before disappearing into the aether with a soft  _pop_.

"This meal is fantastic," Argus said with clear relish. "This Blodwyn made it?"

Hermione nodded. "She loves cooking. Helping. Cleaning. She's like a whole team of house-elves in one fluffy body. Master says it is because she was born from all the magic he had harboured for years, so she picks up on the things he did best first. I'm not sure what that means for Baeg though—I don't really know  _what_ Mr Malfoy does best."

"Hair," Argus quipped.

Hermione grinned. "You may be right!"

Mrs Norris rolled over lazily, all four paws in the air as she went into a blissful salmon-coma.

Hermione rubbed the cat's ears. "You don't seem anywhere near as bad as the stories that used to get passed around," Hermione said thoughtfully, her brows creasing.

Mrs Norris purred in response.

"She's an evil beast she is," Argus said. "Out to suck out your souls, if you were to believe the stories."

Grandfather made a snorting sound as he floated nearby. The hoarfrost he and Bling were producing was just enough to cool the heat of the day and stop mosquitos dead in their tracks: a perfect combination if you asked anyone who had enjoyed the company of Hermione and her entourage during peak bloodsucking insect hours.

They had just finished eating and cleaning up when a slight rustling came from the nearby forest line.

" _ **Eerrrwonkrrrr!"**_

A plump, damp, newly-hatched dragonling stumbled out of the forest, fallen leaves sticking to its birthing fluid and egg-remnants.

Grandfather and Bling stood in front of her, suspicious. Fenrir stood, growling.

The dragonling sat down, whimpering. "Rrrrrrk."

Hermione pushed between her Dementors. "It's just a baby." She rushed up to the dragonling, snatching up some of the roast beef that was left over. The dragonling was immediately interested in the offering, gobbling it down ravenously.

It rubbed up against her chin, crooning, eyes meeting hers with a wave of heat and adoration.

_Mum. Mum. Mummy_ , the dragonling projected into her mind.

Hermione sat down. "Oh no, what have I done?"

The dragonling then proceeded to crawl into her lap and go to sleep.

The Dementors exchanged stares and Fenrir's tail wagged.

" _We're going to need a bigger habitat!"_  Blodwyn chirped definitively. " _That's a Hebridean Black!"_

Hermione slumped, her head touching the dragonling's back as she sighed. "Glorious. Why me?"

Argus scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I think it's your fate in life to find the unadoptable and adopt them."

Hermione looked up. "Is that a blessing or a curse?"

Filch shrugged. "Seems to work well enough for you. Why not? At least you have wings to help teach it to fly, yeah?"

Hermione smiled. "There is that. The house is already fireproofed."

"There you go, Bob's your uncle!"

Hermione chuckled. "Thanks Mr Filch."

"Whatever for?"

"Puttings things in perspective."

Argus smiled. "Anytime."

" _ **Egbert!"**_  Hagrid's booming voice broke through the peaceful night quiet. "Come back 'ere ya little tike! Fang didn't  _ **mean**_ to tip the table over on ya!"

"Oh no," Hermione moaned. "I should have known. I'm going to be in  _so_ much trouble."

Grandfather wrapped his arms around Hermione and lifted her up, carrying her in his arms, dragonling and all. Bling took up Argus and a peacefully snoozing Mrs Norris and followed them while Fenrir and Zorion darted off in their wake.

* * *

"Let me get this straight, Hagrid," Albus said slowly, stroking his beard. "You were 'paid' for your assistance in getting dragons for the Tri-Wizard Tournament with a Scottish Hebridean Black egg which unexpectedly hatched when your dog startled and knocked over table onto it?"

"Well, er, I— It was just sitting out there all alone, see? No one was around to take care of it…"

"Scottish Hebridean Black eggs have a calming effect on dragons of any species. It was there to calm the other dragons to keep them from flaming up the bloody forest," Head dragon-handler Richard Boom proclaimed, his pale face turning quite red.

"It's how the eggs avoid getting trampled on and smashed by their parents. Without that egg, the dragons will be eager to fight, and keeping them calm before the tournament will be very difficult!"

"Well. it hatched out quickly, so a lot of good it would have done you anyway," Hagrid pointed out.

"The nest was charmed to keep it in stasis!"

"Gentleman, please," Albus said. "None of this solves our immediate problem of settling the dragons."

"The Hebridean dragons are extremely rare. We won't have another egg to bring in," Boom said. "Tranquilising spells won't do a lick of good on the dragons. You ordered the most ferocious species in the lot, not the more manageable ones."

Albus narrowed his eyes and looked at Hagrid. " _I_  don't seem to recall ordering the most ferocious of the lot."

Hagrid swallowed. "'Ere just misunderstood, sir, Headmaster Dumbledore, sir."

"Squirrrrrp!" the black dragonling said, flapping his wings as he play nipped at Hermione's chin. Hermione took a turkey leg in her mouth and used it to tempt him into snatching it, which he did with gusto. After a few misses, he snatched it, gleefully rendering it to pieces.

"I think you are missing the obvious here," Snape said, his arms crossed across his chest, his wings hanging at his side like a cape.

"And what  _obvious_ thing would you possible have in mind that trained dragon handlers couldn't do?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes at the dragon handler, and immediately one werewolf, a Nundu cub, two Dementors and a dragonling all glowered at the man in synchronisation.

The man, who had not realised all of the "beasts" were with "the girl" paled significantly. "She's j-just a young witch," he stammered. "You can't expect me to condone sending her into a forest full of angry dragons."

" _I_  will take her. If it proves too much for even her affinity, then you can come up with some other ludicrous idea that won't work."

The man sputtered as Albus held up his hand. "Severus, please. The poor man does not have the exposure to your rancor to survive. Please do what you can and report back if it cannot be done. I will speak with Mr Boom and Mr Hagrid about the consequences of having lost the egg in the first place."

"Hebrideans are the most expensive dragons on the—"

"Do you intend to take the dragonling from her?" Albus eyed the dragon handler. "I am not a dragon expert, my boy, but I know a bond when I see one.

The man bit his lip, perhaps having wanted to do just that.

Snape tilted his head, jutting his chin silently, and Hermione leapt up to attend, taking her place at his side as he swept from the Headmaster's office in a flutter of obsidian wings. Zorion eyed Mr Boom with narrow-eyed feline suspicion, a small greenish puff of disease trickling out of her mouth. Fenrir picked her up by the scruff and carried her off with him, the cub slumping in protest as she was absconded with. The Dementors lingered, turning the office white with hoarfost before drifting off after their mistress.

"W-wh-what  _ **is**_ that girl?" Boom asked, eyes wide as he stared at Dumbledore.

Albus sucked on a lemon sherbet. "Beyond any of us, my boy."

* * *

Severus leaned back on his new Hungarian Horntail lounging sofa as Hermione tended to the other dragons. They all sat attentively in a ring, waiting their turn for her attention and especially the oilings. The Hungarian Horntail had been first, having soaked up an entire pot all by herself. Now, the normally cranky dragon was happy to be out of the cage and serving as a comfy dragon-settee.

All of the dragons were, unsurprisingly, female, and all of them had seriously overinflated protective instincts, but they had all transferred to Hermione and by extension Snape with the gently soothing of their dry scales and skin.

The Hungarian Horntail, nicknamed Sofa, puffed steam and smoke in lazy clouds, the tip of her tail moving back and forth.

The Chinese Fireball became known as Fizz thanks to bubbling before she tried to flame something to death. The Swedish Short-Snout became Sneezy due to her strange allergy of tree pollen. The Welsh Green female was dubbed Gig because of the strange way she used her tail as a tool. Of course, after all the flaming and protesting stopped, Fizz and Gig became fast friends. Sneezy was a bit ostracised because even dragons didn't like being fireballed to the face on greeting. Sofa, of course, was the leader of the crew, having been the largest and most intimidating by default, but none of them seemed all that inclined to fight and bicker now that Hermione was there.

The little black dragonling became known as Tovenares (Tov for short and 'much better than that Egbert shite, according to Snape) because she was an adept enchantress who ensorcelled all into her draconic service of rubbing her belly and playing with her.

Fenrir yawned toothily, making his tongue loll in and out a few times before laying his head down to watch his mistress oiling the next dragon. She did it all by hand rather than magic to make sure the bond of friendship was true. That, and each dragon thrummed a crooning note that seemed to prove that some things were best done by hand.

"Master Edevane would love to come see them, don't you think, Master?" Hermione asked.

"Hn," Severus replied. "Most likely. He loves all of your acquisitions."

Hermione grinned.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"Do you think unnatural to make friends with dragons?"

Snape gave her the eye. "It is not unnatural when that person is you. Someone else, however— they wouldn't be sitting here with their back to a Hungarian Horntail listening to her purr."

Hermione smiled. "Then, I'm glad I'm me!"

"Hn," Severus said, nodding. "You are well-suited to the task."

"What are you reading, Master?"

"Our new contract to 'take care of the dragons' before the tournament."

"Erm," Hermione trailed off. "Does that mean we have to live here at Hogwarts or will they stay with us at the DoM until they are needed for their task?"

"We would be boarding here in the castle under the contract with full floo access to our connection in the Ministry."

Hermione nodded. "The beasts would appreciate it. I'm sure Master Edevane would appreciate not being eaten too."

Snape sniffed. "Most assuredly. Meanwhile, I will let Master Edevane explain to Amelia why we need additional room for dragons in the habitat when we conclude our contract."

Hermione blinked. "What?"

"Do you really think they will allow themselves to be caged again after having experienced…. your type of freedom?"

"I just give them the oil they need, food, and simple kindness."

Snape shrugged. "Do you think they ever had such things when the keepers put them in cages? Or that your new friends would have even permitted the keepers anywhere near them to begin with?"

Hermione pondered that for a moment. "But, they are professionals. They should know how to treat dragons properly."

"Not all potions masters are actually good at brewing. It is much the same in all things. There are those that are truly gifted, those that train to become skilled, and those that achieve but do not hunger for the knowledge. There are also, of course, utter dunderheads, regardless."

"Kind of like poor Baeg?"

"Quite. Baeg is at least skilled in certain other areas as long as you keep him far away from the kitchen."

"He does know his wines, master," Hermione said hopefully.

"True," Severus agreed with a weary sigh.

Hermione succumbed to a helpless fit of giggles as Fizz and Gig began a fastidious grooming session from head to toe. When they were done, her wings were glistening with motherly dragon drool. If Snape had anything further to say, it was quickly drowned out by his being pinned down by Sofa and given a very thorough grooming as well.

Hermione grinned at him as he fanned out his wings and flapped them until they were dry.

"I must ask if you are comfortable with staying here for a term to watch over the dragons until the event is concluded and we may return home," Snape said, itching his cheek with one wing spur.

Hermione smiled. "You're here. I'll be fine."

Snape arched a brow and chewed that over for a moment.  _Was it really that simple for her?_

He pushed the scroll over to her along with a quill and inkpot.

She looked it over, dipped the quill, and signed it, handing it back. Snape signed next to her and rolled it up, holding it out into thin air.

Blodwyn appeared, wrapped her legs around it, and disappeared with it.

"Master?"

"Hn?"

"Do you think my parents would still understand if I brought a dragonling home?"

Snape snorted. "They accepted an entire  _squadron_ of flying lizards, Dementors, Nundus, Volcanic Nightmare hounds, and a hydra in their swimming pool; a dragon should be no big stretch for them."

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad they are so accepting of everything."

Severus smiled slightly. "I am glad as well."

* * *

Tanith tickled Hermione's ear with her tongue when she slept in, having drawn Fenrir in for a werewolf cuddle after burying herself in Grandfather's robes. Tov wriggled in between the covers, the werewolf, and her mummy providing ambient warmth like the dragon-shaped heater she was.

Hermione poked her head out from the covers and stretched, exposing her toes from under the duvet.

Bat.

Bat. Bat.

Clawless paws thumped against her exposed toes.

Hermione giggled and pulled her feet back under, and Zorion leapt up onto the bed, sinking into the fluffy duvet but oh so carefully didn't use her claws.

Mrrrr.

Zorion's rumble heralded the thump of her fuzzy head against Hermione's face.

"Hello, love," Hermione greeted her with a chuckle and a yawn. "Isn't your mother going to be looking for you?"

Zorion looked rather shady.

Hermione chuckled, rubbing the cubs ears. Tesfaye would  _never_ let Zorion go if she thought the cub would be in any real danger, but the cub seemed to be a bit of a closet Houdini and had a definite talent for showing up when least expected having seemingly walked through a wall to get there.

Whether that was true or not remained to be seen.

The morning chores went by quickly with feeding all the beasts from small to large and then flooing to the Ministry with her master. After tending the beasts in the habitats and making sure each one had some love, she returned, showered, and then had a grand breakfast courtesy of Blodwyn.

She could hear disgruntled house-elves whispering in the walls, out of sight but apparently  _not_ so out of earshot of her enhanced draconic senses.

Bertje taught Tov how to strategically roast elf rumps when they got too annoying with their jealous whisperings. The little dragonet may have been smaller, but  _she_ was the boss. She also guarded her side of Hermione's pillow quite zealously.

If anything, the house-elves were extremely wary of coming too close due to Hermione's rather exotic collection of charges.

After Hagrid's many and futile attempts to get in and see the gaggle of dragons, Albus agreed that they would create a shelter in the forest to give the dragons peace of mind and to prevent his stubborn gamekeeper from being roasted alive. The centaurs agreed, having seen the benefit of having hungry dragons stationed so near their sworn enemy: the acromantula.

Hermione encouraged them to sate their hunger on the huge spiders, and they did so with relish, having learned that acromantulas liked to raid their mistress' home at night if given half a chance. Disapproval came in the form of white-hot flames and serious draconic ire, and that resulted in  _much_ happier centaur, a happier Albus, happier staff— but a not-so-happy Hagrid.

When the time came for the drawing of the names from the Goblet of Fire, she, Severus, and the entourage had comfortably settled into centaur built dwelling that looked humble on the outside but was extremely roomy on the inside. The dragons had ceased their roaring and protesting with the arrival of Hermione, and no one seemed the wiser about the dragons "next door" that wasn't a staff member or one of the centaur.

When dragon-handler Boom had attempted to check up on her and verify that she was "doing things right" the dragons promptly showed him the door, flaming arse first.

The rest of him dove into the lake as fast as his magic would propel him as he frantically tried to conjure water and point it at his flaming posterior. Then, much to the observing students' consternation, the giant squid promptly took to him and decided to play catch with itself using the unfortunate Boom as the quaffle.

News spread like wildfire, even to the secluded shelter in the forest. The champions had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire: Fleur Delacour from Beauxbatons, Viktor Krum of Durmstrang, Cedric Diggory from Hogwarts— and an unexpected surprise, one Rubeus Hagrid, who swore up and down that he had not put his name in the goblet.

After the tournament officials scratched their heads in confusion, yelled, sat down, stood up, paced, and threw random objects, they finally conceded that Rubeus Hagrid  _was_ legally bound by name to compete in the Triwizard Tournament. For the purpose of not wanting him to march obliviously to his death, he was permitted to obtain a wand with the restriction that Hagrid's use of it would be confined solely to the grounds of Hogwarts. Garrick Ollivander custom-crafted for Hagrid a sycamore wand, ensuring that the wand both worked when needed and  _only_ worked at Hogwarts.

Apparently, or so Hermione and Severus had heard, Hagrid was being forced to sit in classes to refresh his memory regarding the fine art of spellcasting— something that had many students whispering and boggling at him. Rumour had it that he would fight with his wand, trying to do mundane things such as opening boxes or fetching items and the wand would spontaneously set itself on fire only to put itself out the moment Hagrid swore and dropped it.

Whispers said that Hagrid had stubbornly insisted on using a feather from his favourite hippogriff, Buckbeak, as the core for the wand— the most notoriously ill-tempered and obstinate hippogriff that one could possibly find, despite Ollivander's abject horror and dire warnings about the unsuitability and dangers of using hippogriff parts in wand cores. Since the entire situation was a secret, naturally everyone had heard about it, and then the students all pondered the question of why Hagrid had lost his original wand to begin with—

The contest officials did express the concern that Hagrid had unfair foreknowledge of at least a few of the challenges, and he was relieved of his duties for the tournament as well as given a memory charm that would wear off after the tournament had concluded. That, unfortunately, left them with a few blast-ended skrewts with no keepers, and Severus refused to allow Hermione to be exposed to them after seeing that the creatures didn't even have a head to reason with.

Hermione, happy that the school drama was not  _her_ drama anymore, took the time to take in the fresh air in the "real outdoors" and the pleasure of being with the ones she trusted. Lessons continued after the chores were done. Minerva visited to tutor in Transfiguration. Filius stopped in to offer pointers on charms, Septima came to give advanced instruction in Arithmancy, and Firenze and Bane offered to teach her centaur culture as well as their unique brand of divination via the reading of celestial bodies.

Hermione, as usual, wanted to soak up everything and did her absolute best to do so.

She practiced speeches in front of her entourage, lecturing them on the finer points of Arithmancy and practical magic for the modern witch, read her homework scrolls aloud to Bling and Grandfather to make sure they sounded right, sang her spells while showering, and dutifully practiced her enunciation due to her rather "new" fangs and other beastly "gifts" her charges had given her.

Snape had caught her floating in her sleep a few times, having fallen asleep studying. Her body was surrounded in hoarfrost, so it didn't take much to realise where  _that_ particular talent had come from. He tugged her off to bed, pointed a redress spell at her while pointedly avoiding eye contact, and tucked her into bed, setting the sleepy Nundu cub on top to weigh her down.

Fenrir, surprisingly adaptable, would just lay on top of the duvet to keep his mistress from floating out from under the covers should the Nundu cub fail at her duties or decide that being under the covers was better than on top like a typical feline.

Viktor would invite her to spend time with him on the green and even visit the ship. He and his fellow Durmstrang seemed happy to welcome her. Their newly-appointed High Master, a stern witch by the name of Katarina Fendrikova, seemed to soften at the sight of the dragon-winged young witch mingling with her best and brightest. She gave her pointers on martial magic, how to hide her magical aura, and other such things that would serve her well whenever she wanted someone to underestimate her before battle.

And everywhere Hermione went, her entourage followed— sans the full-grown mother dragons, who reluctantly stayed "home" with their clutches of eggs.

Lucius speculated that if the mother dragons could find a way to shrink themselves down and carry their eggs with them, Hermione would have the mother dragons trying to follow her around too. Severus only twitched his lips at the speculation and suppressed the need to throw a scroll at his old friend.

Hermione watched Tanith stretch herself around her breakfast mouse and make it disappear down her gullet. The python yawned drowsily before slithering up her arm and back around Hermione's neck. Hermione smiled to herself, gently rubbing Tanith's scales. "Margorian said we could help with the autumn harvest today," she told the serpent. Now that the Acromantulas aren't in the orchards, there should be plenty of forest fruits, pods, and seeds to gather."

Fenrir wagged his tail, bowing down in encourage her to get on, and she pulled herself upon his back.

"You're awful excited today, Fen," Hermione said with a laugh. "Why are you so excited?"

Fenrir wag, wag, wagged so hard that it looked like he could take flight through the power of his tail.

"Oh, I know," Hermione said. "You know the foals will be throwing you sticks!"

Fenrir cocked his head cutely in appeal.

"Silly wolf," Hermione chided, giving the werewolf a scruff rustle and a hug from his back. She placed her hand in his mouth as he playfully nommed on it before trotting off with her.

Severus was waiting for her with saddlebags for the werewolf, miniature bags for Zorion, a neck pouch for Tov and Bertje, and sling bags for the Dementors. "I made a supply of healing balms and tonics for Magorian and his herd," he said. And your friends can help carry their food with them, shrunken of course."

Hermione smiled. "Thank you, Master!"

She hopped off Fenrir to say goodbye to the guarding dragons, giving them loving strokes on their heads and a "small" strip of dragon-sized jerky for them to chew on. Snape had figured out how to make it retain the taste and be very resilient to chewing so it would keep them occupied for longer than the normal gnash and swallow. She climbed back on Fenrir and patted him fondly. " Ready to go, Fen?"

"Wuff," he agreed, giving a wolfish snortsneeze.

They all set off deeper into the Dark Forest, following the trails of scent the centaur had left as they came and went from their visits.

"Look, Master, the camp mark," Hermione said, pointing to the small green cluster of leaves left between the bark of a tree.

Snape nodded.

By the time they could smell the food smoking over the campfires, Bane had already come to escort them in.

"Hello, herd-sister," Bane greeted, tenderly brushing his hand across one of her wings. She responding by touching his withers and itching that spot that every centaur longed for a good scratch.

Bane rolled his eyes with a groan of obvious pleasure. "Why is it we can never reach the spots that itch that most?"

Hermione grinned. " Good thing you have us!"

She bowed her head more formally. "Hello, herd-brother," she greeted.

"Magorian sends fond greetings and the hopes that your wings are well rested. The fruits we all covet seem to be high in the sky or at least in the tree."

Hermione laughed. "I hope your catching nets are well practiced. I hope to keep you on your hooves."

Bane snorted, whickering in amusement. " _ **I**_  plan to be the one with the fullest nets," he boasted.

The trip deep into the encampment took a few minutes, and Bane had to shoo the foals away with a few rears and kicks to keep them from tripping their guests up. The foals nickered unhappily, wanting to play sooner than later.

When they had set down the camp items, they helped unroll the catching nets and unstack the harvest baskets, assisting in buckling them onto each centaur. The small foals had tiny baskets of their own, and they carried the spare ropes, mending kits, and harvest sacks.

Severus' gift was gratefully stuffed away in the camp's stores to keep them safe for if and when they were needed. The fly repellant, however, was used right away, and every centaur smelled of a pleasant citrus-scented mist.

Blodwyn relieved them of any large, obnoxious insects by flinging silk out like the tongue of a chameleon, snatching flies right out of the air or off a centaur's rump. This earned her love and praise from every single centaur in the camp and made Blodwyn the most well-fed Mark Spider ever.

Severus flew next to Hermione and taught her the wand movements for the gentle shaking of a tree, guiding her arm until she got it just right. A few nuts went flying off into forest when she overdid the movement, causing the foals to squeal in excitement as they tore off to find them.

Hermione, flushed with embarrassment, tried her best to hide in her wings and fly at the same time.

Moonhoof taught Hermione which mushrooms were safe to eat and how to tell the sneakier lookalikes from the poisonous ones, and she stalked them with the foals in between trees. Cloudspite taught her how to slice them just thick enough to lay out on the drying nets for preservation.

Severus taught her the spell to detect poisons and toxins, and they practiced over the mushrooms to make sure nothing had gone unnoticed. Hermione used them on the wide assortment of tubers and berries they gathered as well, unknowingly getting a smug smile out of Severus when she wasn't looking.

By the time they returned to camp, their baskets and nets full of nuts, berries, and mushrooms, they met up with the hunting and fishing parties. The hunting party had downed a pair of large feral boars and a few deer plus several rabbits, ducks and geese. The fishing party came back with many strands of river and lake fish. Everything was plucked and dressed, skins and feathers saved, sinew preserved, and meat set out to smoke and dry for the winter. No one sat aside when help was needed, and the entire camp was busy with preparation both in preservation and preparation of the evening feast.

Choice pieces were set on an altar outside of camp in offering to the old gods, and the softest pieces were given to the elders first to thank them for their guidance and wisdom. The foals waited with excitement for their share of the feast, each taking food to their dam and sire first before settling down with their own bowls.

Magorian led the thanks to the old gods and the stars that watched over them all, thanking both them and everyone for their hard work.

Judging by the large amount of harvest, things were looking very good for the centaurs' winter. They could enjoy the bounty of fresh food without having to worry so much as preserving everything, allowing for more time to rest. They would continue to preserve and stash things away in the hunters' caches all around the forest— emergency rations for hunters away from the camp— but the bulk of the work was done. No one was complaining.

There was even a little excess to allow the foals to set a little out for the birds so they could watch their avian antics.

And when sunset came, one tired Hermione tucked herself under Snape's warm wing, cuddling Zorion close as she dozed by the fire. She was asleep shortly after supper, and Magorian gave Severus an amused smile.

Severus, though a bit unsure of what to do, wrapped his wing around her and tried to ignore how comforting it was to have someone who trusted him enough that they could do such a thing so easily. He tried to remember a time when  _any_ one had done such a thing, and he came up empty.

The moment his wing pulled her closer, she snuggled into him, making a soft sigh of utter contentment as her one wing tucked around his back and pulled her even closer. Any thoughts of propriety went straight out the window as the rules were rewritten as to what as appropriate for them alone. To deny her would make him something more akin to his late, unlamented bastard of a father— a man who believed kindness was for the weak and the female and any who possessed such weakness should have it beaten out of them.

"Your stars revolve around the same galaxy, my friend," Firenze said musingly, poking the fire with a stick. "Now and hundred thousand years from now, you are bound together in the same journey throughout the depths of space."

Severus gave the centaur a look and one sharply pointed eyebrow.

Firenze snorted softly in response. "Just don't say I didn't warn you," the palomino centaur said.

Severus stared into the fire as he listened to the sound of the flames licking the wood. Fenrir laid his head in his lap and buttered him up for ear scritches. Snape's hand automatically rubbed the werewolf's ears like a faithful hound's by the fire. Zorion was lying on her back, all four paws in the air and belly exposed as she made herself completely comfortable in the oddest of positions.

Tov and Bertje nestled close, making it completely impossible to think oneself alone in the universe.

_What a strange sensation,_  Snape thought to himself.

_Strange and wonderful_ , his heart whispered back to him.

_Your heart is right,_ Blodwyn squeaked into his ear as she settled on his shoulder with a happy squeak.

Severus closed his eyes, and for once, enjoyed the moment.

* * *

"Alright everyone!" Hermione said as she finished rubbing oil onto her dragon charges. "Today is your big day! Each of you will be guarding your nest in a different area, and if you see this sash on someone's belt, that means you are being moved back into another area, so don't eat, flame, chew, or otherwise maim them, okay?"

Sofa yawned. Fizz and Gig fluttered their wings, and Sneezy sneezed a ball of flame the size of a grapefruit over Hermione's head.

Hermione stared at Sneezy, and the dragon hung her head.

"Okay, everyone knows the rules, right? Protect your eggs, but don't attack outside the arena, alright?"

The dragons all nodded their heads, each nosing Hermione and tipping her over with their noses. She staggered and laughed, hugging their muzzles and giving them affectionate pats. "Okay, Gig, you're up first."

She placed her hand on Gig's side, and the dragon let her climb up on her back. "Let's go!"

Gig took off towards the arena, her wings spread wide to stretch them out. Hermione carefully carried the shrunken nest of eggs close to her body. Severus had placed numerous protective wards on each egg to make sure nothing happened to them, but Hermione wasn't taking any chances. She handled them like they were fragile eggs, and they were.

When Gig flew over the arena, the crowds oohed, ahhed, and even screamed. Gig's ears went back against her neck, her spiny head fins flattening over them to cover the sound. Hermione soothed her with her hands, gently letting her know she was there. Gig eyed the arena suspiciously, it being far too "small" for her comfort level.

Hermione had begged to allow them to see the arena ahead of time, but the officials had denied her. Dragon and contestant were not to have foreknowledge of the arena. Hermione had though it terribly foolish when dragons did not like change at  _all_ when their precious eggs were involved. Severus had pointed out that they were getting paid regardless of who the dragons ate, and Hermione had been horrified by the thought of one of her dragons eating someone— what if her dragon got indigestion?!

It had taken Snape walking out of the room and locking himself in a soundwarded room and laughing his lungs out before he could return to her straight faced.

The only reason Hermione knew that was what had had happened was because Blodwyn had been a spy for her.

_Shh, don't tell_ , Blodwyn had squeaked.

When they landed in the arena, Hermione placed the nest of eggs in the prepared bowl, and then she placed the golden egg she had been given to add to it. She rubbed Gig down, making sure she was comfortable as the crowds above stared at her in amazement.

When dragon-handler Boom came in to fasten the iron collar around her, Gig reared up and sent a huge burst of flame in his direction, causing the crowd above to scream.

Boom, having gotten a protective spell off just in the nick of time, stumbled backwards and fell flat on his arse

"Each dragon must be collared to the arena!" he protested, standing there red-faced in just his pants.

Hermione eyed the collar rather suspiciously, seeing that it was wrought iron with no sort of cushioning to keep it from digging into the dragon's sensitive neck. She eyed the smoking remains of the embarrassed dragon-handler's trousers and pointed her wand at them, turning it to soft lambswool and using it to comfortably line the iron collar, thanking Minerva for her practical Transfiguration lessons. She felt the large collar with her hands, making sure nothing was rough or stabby.

She gestured to Gig and rubbed her head with her hands. "I have to put this on your for a while, love. I made it less painful, I promise. Just for a little while and it comes off again, okay?"

Gig rumbled worriedly, but she allowed Hermione to clasp it around her neck.

Hermione checked the chain to make sure it let her move around and not crush her own nest and passed her a jerked treat to keep her mouth busy. She had her stretch and move around her head and neck to make sure she wasn't going to choke herself trying to sprawl over her nest.

"Okay, Gig. I have to go now. But I won't be far, okay?"

Gig rumbled and nosed her, curling her huge body around her nest.

Hermione walked out through the arena gate, passing by a young woman with eyes the colour of the deep blue sea and long silvery-blonde hair. There was something almost otherworldly about her presence, but she couldn't quite place it. She was stunningly beautiful, and carried herself with a calm dignity. Hermione couldn't help but feel awkward and plain in her presence.

Cheers were coming from the stadium above, and Hermione rushed out the passage to the open air above, closing her eyes to the glaring brightness of the sun but happy that she was out of the confined area that was not her home or anywhere she was familiar with. Announcements were blaring via  _Sonorus_ , and a gong went off, signalling the start of the challenge.

There were screams and cheers, gasps and sighs of relief, but Hermione felt her nerves work overtime for the dragon, knowing that the dragon would be caught up in defence of her eggs— not knowing that challenger only wanted the fake gold one. But Hermione had put the gold egg with the clutch, and that made it important. Gig and the other dragons would probably not even care it wasn't one of their clutch that would hatch, but they  _would_  care that Hermione had given it to them to guard.

There was a bunch of screams and then a collective sigh as the ending gong went off. Hermione rushed down the tunnel as the witch staggered out— hair singed, robes torn, eyebrows missing, but clutching a golden egg victoriously to her chest.

As Hermione ran in, Gig stopped in mid-roar and made a soft whimpering sound at the loss of the golden egg. Hermione immediately wrapped her arms around the dragon's muzzle in a hug, patting her down and releasing the collar, much to the audience's distress.

Gig nuzzled Hermione, accepting her pats and comfort. Hermione pointed her wand and sent out a stream of water to let Gig drink, and the dragon lapped at the stream of water gratefully before kneeling for her to climb up. Hermione gathered the nest to her, shrinking it down, tucking it to her body, and climbing on the dragon's back. Gig then launched into the air and flew back "home", eager to leave the arena behind.

"Mummy, I want to be a dragon rider too!" a young wizard said to his mum.

"No, you're going to be a Wizarding Accountant," his mum replied.

"But—"

"I  _ **never**_ want to see you riding a dragon, Godfrey!"

The boy pouted and sucked on his licorice whip.

* * *

Fizz wasn't altogether happy about moving away from "home", but the Chinese Fireball trusted that as long as Hermione was taking her somewhere, it was important, as long as she had her clutch with her.

Hermione amused her by teaching her tricks in the lull, and the audience saw it as part of the show, clapping, oohing, and ahhing when Fizz played dead dramatically, did a barrel roll, pretended to eat Hermione only to have her walk out, and other tricks.

"I don't think they knew you could do such things, Fizz. Are you ready to prove they're all a bunch of dunderheads?"

Fizz gave her a slurp and did her best big-dog-eyes-begging pose.

The audience awwwwwwed together as Hermione gave her a treat. Hermione stood atop the fireball's head, throwing her arms out wide to balance there as she pulled out another treat.

_**SNAP!** _

The dragon's jaws clacked around her.

The crowd screamed!

Hermione walked out from between her teeth as the dragon ate her treat, causing the crowd to oooo and ahhh all over again.

She went through what Hermione considered the basic training: Stand, sit, stay, lift leg, still, leave it— all the things that made oiling a dragon and keeping them from eating something that would make them sick so much easier. Because it was associated with wonderful oiling and feeling good, the dragons all took to the commands very quickly.

When it was time to leave Fizz with her clutch and the mysterious golden egg, Hermione took it, rubbed her scent all over it, and had Fizz inspect it before putting it in with the clutch, knowing that Fizz was considerably more fickle than Gig in regards to what she allowed in her nest.

Hermione carefully nestled it between the other eggs and gave Fizz a hug around her muzzle. The dragon made fizzing sounds, percolating in the back of her throat, and then curled protectively around the nest.

As she made her way down the passage to exit the arena, High Master Fendrikova was escorting Viktor to the starting area, and he gave Hermione a warm smile as he passed by.

"My lady give token of her knight's favour?" he said smoothly, his dark eyes sparkling.

"Doth the hero wish to be my knight?" she asked formally, her lips twitching slightly.

"To my dying breath," he said with a gallant bow. "I will champion your cause and defend your honour to the death, my lady."

High Master Fendrikova's eyebrows has raised to nearly launch height.

Hermione took out a black silk handkerchief, spun by none other than their favourite Mark Spider, and extended it, releasing it.

Viktor's hand caught it preternaturally fast as his head bowed, his lips but barely brushing against the back of her extended hand. "You shall not regret, my Lady," he said formally, bringing the token to his lips.

Hermione flushed and turned her head away in the expected upturn of her chin, and she could feel Viktor's smile upon her as he continued down the tunnel.

As she stood on the waiting platform, she listened to the cheering, knowing that Viktor moved crowds to his pleasure as that was his talent whether in Quidditch or anything else he put himself up to.

He was, much like his Animagus form, larger than life.

She wondered, however, why he would choose to champion  _her_ when so many other more popular, talented witches existed to catch his fancy.

The crowd cheered and cried out for more, and Hermione knew by the sounds she didn't hear that Fizz hadn't been overly stressed by the experience. When she walked back down to tend her, Viktor carried the golden egg with him and had a huge grin on this face He took her hand as he passed, bringing it to his mouth as he brushed his lips over her knuckles.

"A win for you, my Lady," he said with a genuine smile before he allowed himself to be herded away.

Hermione tried to ignore the strange flutter in her stomach as Viktor left and she hustled away to tend Fizz.

Fizz was waiting for her, eagerly straining against the chain. Hermione rushed up, and undid the collar, dutifully oiling her neck to soothe where it had been. The dragon crooned and nuzzled her.

"You're okay? No bruises? Bumps? Loose scales?"

Fizz rumbled and shoveled her onto her snout, lifting her up.

"Okay, okay!" Hermione said with a laugh. "Let me pack up your eggs and we can go."

She gathered up the next and shrank it, tucking it into the carrying basket before walking up Fizz's snout and down her neck to sit on her back. Fizz took off, heading back towards home as unerringly as a homing pigeon.

* * *

When Hermione walked down to tend to Sneezy after Cedric Diggory's turn at dragon wrangling, or rather egg-thievery, she saw the wizard covered from head to toe in dragon boogies.

"Oh,  _ **ew**_ ," Hermione said as the still-flaming mucus dripped from the poor young wizard.

Professor Flitwick was there to extinguish and blast the dragon's sneeze off his house champion, but Cedric looked kind of green around the gills from the experience.

The mucus had made the boy's egg extra slippery, and he dropped it. The egg clanged open as a horrible screeching cacophony came from inside it. Cedric quickly slammed it shut, but Hermione's eyes were wide even as her hands covered her ears.

What the hell was  _ **that**_ all about?

* * *

Sofa looked rather suspiciously at the crowd above the arena, and Hermione had to do her best to assure the older Horntail mother that the audience wasn't going to steal her eggs.

The audience seemed utterly convinced that Sofa was going to eat all of them, seeing as she was easily the biggest dragon jenny of the entire batch.

Hermione could sense her suspicion, and she patted her soothingly, rubbing where her wings came off her back and using her bare feet to rub against her neck scales.

Sofa rumbled lowly, relaxing a little.

Hermione dangled her chew "toy" for her. Sofa eyed it with interest and then snapped at it, playing tug-of-war with her. Hermione smiled, hugging her neck as the mother dragon played with her. She let go, allowing the dragon to take her toy and chew on it, knowing it wasn't quite the same as with certain canines where dominance was an issue.

Hermione listened to the chatter above and flattened her ears against her head, startling when her ears actually flattened against her head. Bertje crooned at her as Tanith hissed softly into her ear, offering comfort. She touched Tanith and nodded. "Sorry, I keep forgetting that I have ears that do that now."

Tanith hissed serpentine laughter, projecting her thoughts that if she were a "proper" serpent, she wouldn't have exposed, moveable ears.

Bertje glowered at the python, projecting loudly that ears were perfectly acceptable as moveable accessories.

Hermione was about to prepare the golden egg when there was a scream from above.

" _ **Gabrielle! Non!"**_

A little girl had climbed down— or perhaps used accidental magic— and appeared on the arena floor. She was stumbling toward the "dwagon" with a beaming grin on her face, obviously far too young to realise that even properly handled dragons were not necessarily tame ones. Some students seated above them were looking mighty guilty, and Hermione could sense that the girl had been put up to it— perhaps "helped" to make an extremely dangerous, irrational decision.

The blonde, blue eyed witch who had won the first egg had a look of utter panic on her face, her eyes were practically bulging out of her head as she had her wand out— but what spell she could even cast seemed to be lost in the overwhelming fear.

"Sofa."

The dragon's head snapped up.

"Be still."

Sofa, her tail tip twitching, blew warm air from her nostrils as the innocent child approached. Hermione kept one hand on a wing as her feet gently stroked the dragon's neck. The dragon seemed to realise that the "tiny" child was not another dragon trying to steal her eggs, some sort of egg-smashing predator, or something that would make a good snack on a "bad" day. Hermione could feel the dragon searching her mind for an experience that would help her decide what was the right thing to do in this strange situation.

The girl was cooing something in French, and Hermione regretted that she'd never had a foreign language class in French. All she knew, thanks to assimilation, was Bulgarian, English, and some random Dutch thanks to the DoM librarian, Madam De Lint.

Tanith hissed something into Hermione's ear.

" _You_ know French?"

Tanith gave her a mental sigh.

Hermione touched Tanith's scales and smiled. "I trust you. I was just surprised!"

Hermione lay against Sofa's neck and closed her eyes, allowing her mind to flow into both the dragon's and Tanith's, blending the bridge together to make understanding possible.

" _They said they weren't real dragon eggs. That the big dragon was just a clever illusion. I'm not a coward. I'm not. I'm not! They said they wouldn't let me back in the carriage if I didn't do it!"_

Hermione opened her eyes and slid down Sofa's side to the ground, approaching the little girl. " _Arrête."_

The girl stopped, wide-eyed.

Hermione knelt at her side. " _Parlez vous anglais?"_

The little girl nodded. "Little."

"Hold very still and reach out your hand. Like this," Hermione demonstrated.

The girl mimicked Hermione exactly.

"This is Sofa," Hermione said. "Hold very still."

Hermione guided Sofa over, and the mother dragon very gently nudged her snout into the little girl's hand. The girl's eyes went really wide when she realised the dragon was very real, indeed— scales, flame, scorching breath, and everything.

"Now, take this and hold it—"

Hermione gave the girl one of the dragon's treats. "Palm up like this. Good. Hold still now."

The girl bit her lip and trembled, but did what she was told.

The dragon's long tongue slid delicately over the girl's hands, curled around the dried snack, and dragged it back into her mouth. It was a tiny thing, and Hermione hadn't released the spell to make it the normal size, but Sofa seemed to instinctively realise that this was important to Hermione, so it was important to her too.

The little girl's face lit up with pure joy.

Hermione gestured, and Sofa obediently lay her head down. Hermione extended her hand. " _Want to show them you're no coward?"_

The girl nodded.

" _Viens avec moi,"_ Hermione said, thanking Tanith for her translation.

The girl put her hand in Hermione's and she followed her up onto the dragon's huge head and down her neck. Hermione sat in front of Sofa's wings and gestured for the girl to sit down in front of her.

"Gentle with your legs. She can feel you."

"Oui."

"Lean into her neck. Forward. Yes, like that. Now, hold on tight."

Hermione cast the non-verbal sticking charm even as she wrapped the safety belt securely around the girl's waist, latching it.

"Now, say 'up!'" Hermione instructed her.

"Up!" the girl repeated.

Sofa stood.

"Say 'roar'."

"Roar!"

Sofa let out a loud draconic bellow that shook the walls and flags and the entire arena.

Hermione saw that Viktor was smiling and talking to the blonde witch and an anxious-looking older witch that was most likely the child's mother. His charisma, as usual, was utterly beyond reproach, reassuring them that their child wasn't in any danger— not with Hermione and her dragons at least.

"Say 'fly' and squeeze your seat with your bottom."

"Fly!"

Hermione saw the girl struggle with the entire concept of squeezing her seat, seeing her pinch her own buttocks in confusion. Hermione adjusted her weight, pressing down and squeezing her legs just a little. Sofa took the signal for what it was and launched into the air, vaulting up through the stands and up.

The girl squealed with delight, and Sofa flew around in lazy circles, keeping her nest in sight at all times. They did a few laps around the stadium before Hermione gently touched her foot to her neck and dragged it forward to signal her to land. Sofa came in for a landing, her great wings kicking up dust to cover almost all the awestruck onlookers. She landed to Hermione's instructions, laying her head just so on the edge of the arena seating— right where the girl's anxious mother waited.

" _ **Gabrielle!"**_  the older witch cried.

" _ **Maman!"**_  the girl replied, leaping up to run down the dragon's snout and embrace her mother.

The woman spewed out a chain of rapidfire French that even Tanith couldn't quite keep up with.

Gabrielle turned to Hermione and Sofa. "Merci beaucoup."

Hermione nodded and sent Sofa a mental image. The dragon rumbled softly and gave the girl a wet slurp on the face and hot but not scalding breath that ruffled the giggling child's long blonde hair.

Hermione's gaze turned to a pale and guilty-looking group of students from Beauxbatons, her eyes both fire and stone. Sofa curled her lips back from her teeth, drool dripping as a gush of white steam rose up out of her nostrils. She moved her huge head inexorably forward, forcing the shaking girls to flatten themselves back against the seats.

"Do you  _still_ think the dragons are just an illusion?"

The girls shook their heads back and forth wildly.

"And you will never encourage Gabrielle to do such dangerous things again, will you?"

They shook their heads frantically.

"I'm so glad we have an understanding."

As Hermione and Sofa pulled away to get in position for the next part of the tournament, Fleur had her wand out and aimed at her fellow students, spitting out a chain of fiery French that had the girls cowering in terror as if she was the dragon— or  _worse_.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle's sobbing mother hugged her child tightly, beyond grateful that Hermione was everything she was, even if she had no idea exactly  _what_ that was.

"Good job, Sofa," Hermione praised the dragon. "You did  _very_ good. I'm so proud of you."

The Hungarian Horntail practically beamed with draconic pride, accepting her beloved mistress' praise.

"Now, time for the real event. Collar too tight? Good? Great. Be careful, love, and I will be close."

Sofa nuzzled her and curled around her clutch of eggs, sniffing the golden one and snorting, laying her head down.

Hermione walked out the staging door, frowning as she saw Hagrid shuffling down the path with a very concerned-looking Professor Dumbledore.

The half-giant looked far too excited to be facing dragons. She could only hope that Sofa didn't tear him to pieces or he didn't hurt the dragon in some way that made Sofa actually hate him— especially after the good experience she had just had with Gabrielle.

As she reached the waiting area, the crowd roared as the signal went off to start the event.

Hermione wrapped her wings around herself, praying silently that things wouldn't go straight to Hades.

* * *

_**Half-Giant Participant in Famous TriWizard Tournament** _

_**Attempts to Steal Entire Clutch of Dragon Eggs from** _

_**Angry Hungarian Horntail Mother!** _

_**Decades-long Dark Compulsion Discovered By St Mungo's Healers!** _

_They say you might have an obsession when your robes fill more than one room, but Rubeus Hagrid's healers discovered he was under a decades-long curse cast upon him by an old schoolmate: one Tom Marvolo Riddle._

_What was the compulsion?_

_To collect any and all dangerous magical beasts and consider them misunderstood and harmless._

_He had been collecting all manner of beasts, large and small, since he was of schooling age, to the point where his obsession had made him the ideal choice to be framed for the opening the Chamber of Secrets and setting loose a basilisk on the student body, resulting in the death of a fellow student, Myrtle Warren of Ravenclaw house. It was this tragic incident that resulted in Hagrid being expelled from Hogwarts and his original wand broken._

_Now, decades later, Mr Hagrid's case is being reheard by the Wizengamot after his healers, who had to care for him after he brazenly attempted to steal an entire clutch of dragon eggs from an angry mother Horntail during the Triwizard Tournament._

_Compulsion removed, Mr Hagrid said he'd only ever wanted a dog and that he had enjoyed feeding birds and squirrels with his father growing up._

_What this means for his magical career is still being discussed, as the grounds for his expulsion from Hogwarts have clearly been invalidated. Discussions with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore will continue after the Triwizard Tournament concludes with the possibility that Mr Hagrid will be permitted to finally complete the schooling that had previously been denied him._

_The Headmaster had stated back when Mr Hagrid had first been expelled that he did not believe that young Hagrid would have summoned a dangerous basilisk to attack other students, and there is some inquiry on why the doubts of then Transfiguration Professor Dumbledore and Headmaster Dippet were ignored and why the compulsion was not detected at the time._

_So far, however, the only records of the time were done by Auror Laak E. Dasical, and Mr Dasical was unfortunately murdered during the first Wizarding War._

_As for the Tournament, Mr Hagrid did, technically, finish the trial by taking the golden egg off the arena floor, so he will be expected to participate in the second event with the other contestants._

* * *

"What a truly marvelous creature," Fleur Delacour sighed, marvelling at the soft feel of Sofa's nose despite her vicious appearance.

Sofa, having tucked her eggs away in a safe place and counted each one a few times over as well as pressing her ear to each shell to carefully listen to the hatchlings' inner movements, was content to be less wary.

"So majestic," Fleur's mother said, boggling at how Hermione did not hesitate as she oiled her large friend down. Little Gabrielle helped, smiling as she slathered the balm all over the dragon with her tiny hands.

The mother Horntail yawned toothily, tail tip flicking back and forth as she enjoyed the slathering over her body.

"I heard you won the first event, Viktor," Hermione said. "Congratulations."

Viktor smiled. "Am glad the blindness spell vorked. Was not sure it work on dragon. Silencing spell only left scent, and dragon seemed reluctant to snap unless positive what was there."

"I've taught them not to snap first and bemoan later," Hermione said. "Master Edevane said that was the first thing to teach after the basics to protect them as much as others."

"Wise idea," Viktor said as he helped slather the wing he was working on to a brilliant shine.

Sofa moaned in pleasure, giving off happy vibes as her body sank into pure bliss.

"To be honest. Glad it is done. Can now spend time vith you vithout ruining any event surprises." Viktor gave her a wink, and Hermione blushed, rubbing oil harder into Sofa's side.

"Thank you for not eating my child," Apolline Delacour thanked the mother dragon, gently rubbing oil on the dragon's delicate eye ridges— her favourite place to be rubbed.

Sofa rumbled, uncaring at the chatter as much as she was enjoying all the attention. She relaxed around the newcomers because Hermione was relaxed, and she had come to trust Hermione's judgement for it had never served her wrong.

"Is amazing, oui? To have such large animals here, living together in the forest. They do not fight?"

"They occasionally disagree, but they do not fight," Hermione said. "Nothing really big, anyway. Their eggs are safe, and they are safe, so they are more relaxed, I think. Master Edevane has been in contact with some dragon-handlers in Japan, and their methods for training and handling are very different from the way they are taught in Europe."

"In Japan, dragons stay with their people for life, non?" Fleur said.

Hermione nodded. "They protected many ancient palaces until the magical families began to withdraw from the Muggles. There was something about how the Emperor tried to restrict the dragons for the royal family, but the dragons picked whom they wished to be with. To prevent them from being abused, the families and the dragons withdrew into seclusion so their dragons did not get used in war. It's very fascinating."

Viktor shook his head in agreement. "Sounds very interesting."

"Oriental dragons tend to use their heads more— which can lead to great mischief, or so the stories say. Young dragons would prank their families often. But when their family was threatened, they never failed to rise up to protect them."

"Sounds like dey knew their dragons as comrades," Viktor said approvingly.

Hermione patted Sofa soothingly. "I think they have the right idea."

"Heard you have a few places owling your master to beg an audience to help them with dragon problems."

Hermione tilted her head. "My master is not sure if that is a good idea. If I go, and they bond to me, that doesn't help them. They lose their dragon, and we end up with another."

Viktor frowned. "Did not tink of that— but maybe dere is vay for you to solve such issues from the side lines. Like— counsel or—" He struggled with the right word. "Consultant?"

Hermione shrugged. "Maybe. The problem is, there has to be a relationship of trust, and most of these places chain and use pain deterrents for bad behaviour. Years of that can he hard to counter, but not impossible. The Gringotts' dragons are doing well, now."

"Perhaps— you run workshop. You can show dem vhat you do with your dragons and have them work with theirs as you watch. Like horse training in groups."

Hermione pondered. "That could be a wonderful idea, Viktor— but they would have to safely bring their dragons to wherever we had it, and we'd have to have a place set up to accept multiple foreign dragons."

"Maybe discuss with High Master Fendrikova. She is good at planning. Idea. Making things work. Maybe she and your master talk— come up with better idea that works. Have many connections, High Master. Vould help you, I tink. Maybe have hosted at Durmstrang during summer holidays. Could bring fame to school, so they may be happy about that. Ve even have old dragon paddocks for vhen we had school dragons. Long time ago."

"I think that is a very good idea," Madam Delacour said with a nod. "After what people saw here during the tournament, they may be very eager to learn new things or old things brought back into the light again."

"I think reviving old traditions and helping bring them back into the light as feasible careers will earn you much respect and admiration," High Master Fendrikova's voice broke in. She stood there with Severus, her fingers brushing against her high cheekbones. "Many Pureblood families have failed in such endeavors. It would bring you much— what is word?"

"Distinction," Severus said.

"Should have known masters could not keep ears out," Viktor said with a laugh. "Good idea, da?"

The stern High Master nodded. "I will bring up the idea to the school governors. I have no doubt they will agree."

"Master?" Hermione asked, looking hopeful.

"As if we don't have enough to keep us busy? However, I am not adverse to saddling you with more," he said dryly. "Since you seem so willing to destroy your free time with more projects."

Hermione smiled as Blodwyn cheered, raising her legs up in a salute.

"I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership," Hermione said, putting out her hand. Viktor clasped it immediately, as did Fleur, Apolline, Severus, Katarina—

Gabrielle put her hand in too, not wanting to be left out.

"I heard there were shenanigans being planned, Severus," Lucius' smooth voice purred. "Is there room for another in this plotting?"

"Wishing to put your financial magic to the test, Lucius?" Severus asked.

Lucius shrugged smoothly. "I know a good idea when I hear it," he said. "I would gladly work to see such an idea bear fruit and help bring one of the oldest magical traditions alive again."

Lucius placed his hand on the others.

* * *

Hermione watched Bane showing the foals how to roast corn in the husk over the campfire, happy to take a bit of a break. She was reminded how much she loved camping with her mum and dad when she was little. Her mum showed her how to cook  _real_ meals in cast iron instead of what other people thought camp food was limited to.

The centaurs cooked all their food over the fire, so her mum had actually done her quite a favour in teaching her daughter to cook over a fire. It had also helped her when it came to brewing fires, and for that she was even more thankful.

She heard him approaching, whether he realised it or not. Her ear flicked at the crunch of leaves under the shoe. She decided to play dumb, as there were only so many people allowed to trudge through the Forbidden Forest and retain such a lazy, casual gait.

Only one person that she knew of would do such a thing. Brazen. Confident.

"Hello, Miss Granger."

"Hello, Headmaster Dumbledore," Hermione said, her hand soothing Fenrir's ears. The werewolf yawned, tail wagging, relaxed because she was relaxed.

"Where is Severus, might I ask?" Dumbledore asked.

"He's currently meeting with Magorian at the moment, Headmaster. Would you like me to give him a message?"

"Ah, no," Albus said, stroking his long beard. "I was hoping to talk to you, actually."

Hermione checked a frown, trying to remain neutral. "Whatever about, Headmaster?"

"How is your apprenticeship going? Anything troubling you?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, everything is going well, sir."

Hermione didn't miss how the wizard's eyes looked over her wings. They always did. People couldn't help but stare at the differences: her wings, the curve of her hands into claws, the scales, her delicate fangs, and her magical tattoos. At least in the DoM, everyone thought she was fascinating. The staring was always curious and reverent. Outside of the DoM, however— not so much.

She'd learned to fold her wings like a robe or cape around her body, clasping her wing thumbs together like a cloak clasp and letting her wings drape lightly around herself. Her hands she tucked with the fold her arms— something she learned from her master. As long as she didn't smile too widely, her fangs weren't so evident. But this was her home, even if it was temporary, and she didn't feel like she had to hide around the centaurs. They accepted her just as she was— perhaps even more so because of what she was and what she would be when she was finished being assimilated by her creatures in various token ways.

The Headmaster was friendly, but then he always had been. Before her experience with the Dementors, that had been a welcome relief, but it only made her suspicious now that she had seen the true faces of her former house. However, Dumbledore had deferred to Snape's judgment after he had taken her as an apprentice, so he wasn't completely deserving of mistrust, so far.

Bertje stared at the headmaster with dragonet suspicion. She was already wary of  _any_ male who wasn't on the verified trust list thanks to her abusive previous owner.

Hermione soothed the dragonet with one hand, rubbing her eye ridges with her finger. Bertje crooned and headbonked her palm like a cat, clearly wanting more attention.

"Ah, I see. I see," Albus said. "No problems with your shelter here in the forest? The house-elves have been whispering amongst themselves that they haven't been asked to assist you."

"Oh, that is just for their protection, Headmaster," Hermione said. "Dragons are not too fond of things popping in unannounced." Hermione withheld the observation that house-elves were rude whisperers of the highest order, and she did not trust them to keep anything secret, especially after having heard the things they whispered about her and her master— even poor Blodwyn.

"Kind of you to be so concerned for their welfare," Dumbledore noted, rubbing his chin. "Have your studies kept you suitably entertained?"

Hermione shrugged. "I enjoy my lessons," she said. "There is always something new to learn."

"I hear your parents have made quite a name for themselves. A dentistry in the ministry?"

Hermione cocked her head. "They are enjoying learning more about the magical world and seeing things they only ever heard stories about."

She watched Dumbledore closely, unsure of what it was he wanted and doubly unsure what had inspired his coming to speak with her alone.

"Why, Headmaster," Severus' distinctly chilly tone came from nearby, followed shortly after by the man himself. "Whatever brings you out to our very doorstep here in the deep woods? Surely not the vast numbers of mosquitos and ticks."

Hermione's ears flicked to the side. Her master's tone was both annoyed and concerned. She felt no small amount of relief in his return, even though he hadn't gone far. The headmaster was the kind of person she really felt she needed a chaperone to speak to— as if she had done some great sin in order to gain his attention.

She tried not to rush to his side and bury herself under his warm wings— undoubtedly the safest place she could think of.

_No small irony there, Hermione,_  she thought to herself.

"Ah, Severus," Albus replied cheerily. "Do I have to have a particular reason to visit this talented young dragon-handler?"

"You always have a reason for everything, Headmaster," Severus said, his eyes transformed into a narrow line along with his lips.

"Now, now, Severus," Albus tutted. "I'm sure you wouldn't begrudge me a small chat with your apprentice. Especially after that most impressive performance with the dragons."

Severus unfurled his great wings, his fingers twitching as they brushed his long black hair away from his face. "You had plenty of time to do so at the after party, yet you choose now to do so. Forgive me for being suspicious at such… peculiar timing on your part."

He held out one arm to Hermione, and when she came closer, he made a show of checking her over as if thoroughly inspecting her for ticks and any other bloodsucking parasites. Hermione willingly submitted to his attention, comforted by his obvious great concern for her welfare.

She eyed the aged headmaster with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Her master and the headmaster were seemingly locked in a primal battle of wills over— something.

Concerned, she brushed her fingertips along the inside of his arm, silently letting him know she was worried but didn't wish to say anything aloud.

Surprisingly, his wing brushed lightly against hers, allowing her unequivocal proof that he was paying careful attention to her.

The gesture, however subtle, caused the headmaster to look Hermione directly in the eye.

The wizard suddenly winced, turning away as if the sun had gotten in his eyes. He rubbed his temples slightly.

Dumbledore closed his eyes, vigorously rubbing the bridge of his nose and between his eyes. "I fear I must apologise. I seem to have a bit of a nasty headache coming on. If you will excuse me? I think I'm going to go ask Poppy for one of her miracle phials."

Severus was stonily silent as he unobtrusively manoeuvred Hermione behind him, both watching the Headmaster trudge away.

He stared where the headmaster had left and then turned to Hermione. His hand lifted to touch her face, his fingertips touching her psi points with concern. "Did he scan you?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know. I felt something— but it wasn't the push or the tingle you do in our drills."

"Albus is one of the more insidious Legilimens the world doesn't even know," Snape said. "I need your permission to check deeper."

Hermione nodded. "You always have my permission when you're checking on my safety, master."

Snape frowned at her. "You shouldn't be so casual," he scolded even as his mind brushed against hers, checking for abnormalities or lingering traces.

"I am fully aware of what I'm saying," Hermione said, jutting out her chin.

"Foolish girl," he tutted, but there was no venom in it.

After a few minutes, Snape grunted. "There are small traces, but— it seems he ran into an unexpected barrier," he said, a quirk of a smile on his lips.

"What barrier?" Hermione said. "My shields?"

"No," Severus replied. "The bond with the beasts. Their very alien thoughts that we have come to see as the normal flow of thought and meaning. The mind of the beasts are always with you, but add in the Dementor, and I think he was navigating an alien mindscape."

Hermione frowned. "Their thoughts are not so different."

Severus' smile was not kind. "To someone like Albus, most are a quick, easy read. I had been training you, but it could have taken a normal person years to build up to defend against his very subtle, casual, insidious scans. But when he scanned you— and perhaps earlier when he was trying with me— he found something foreign. Chaotic. Too instinctive."

Hermione looked at Fenrir. "Are you too instinctive?"

"Browl?" the werewolf replied.

Hermione smiled and pressed her head to his, and he licked her cheek.

"They are peaceful to you, my apprentice, but I think as much as you rise to their defence in some ways, they also do for you— protecting your mind from— territorial interlopers."

Hermione beamed. "That sounds like a benefit!"

Snape arched a brow. "I believe so."

"If he wanted to know something, why not just ask?" Hermione frowned. She had always preferred direct questions. Sneakery and skulk had to be learned. She learned it like everything else, but her instinctive desires had always preferred knowing what someone wanted up front.

Severus sighed. "Albus is one who reads people— often more in manner and physical tells, but he is far too habitual in casually reading the mind. He may not even realise he's doing it; it has become second nature. He's used to knowing what people think. Maybe, once, he had to do such things consciously, but not anymore."

Hermione mumbled something rude under her breath.

Snape arched a brow. "Such language."

"Sorry, Master."

Tanith said something far more rude in serpent-speak.

Hermione's hand clamped her friend's snout shut. "Tanith!" she said, blushing.

"Magorian said it's clear to go hunting with the dragons. Go feed them before they eat our library in frustration."

"Yes, Master!" Hermione gave him a winghug— something that had become so terribly natural— and dashed off to tend her larger, hungrier charges.

Magorian walked up next to Severus as the young witch left. "Albus up to his mental trickery again?"

Snape sniffed. "He is always probing, but today I think he realised that he cannot pressure me into something I do not want anymore, and that unsettled him."

"The Oath?"

Snape nodded. "At the time, he bound the Oath to my left arm— the arm that bore the Mark. I think— unintentionally— it bound to the Mark. Once that Mark left, so too did the compulsion to do his bidding. He may have suspected it when I did not "wish" to return to Hogwarts to teach."

Magorian scrunched his brows together. "Albus has always had some greater good on his mind, but that does not always mean it is good for the majority or even the minority such as the centaur. He brokers peace that we do not attack the children that trespass, thus he gets the fame of protecting his charges, but we do not harm foals. Rude adults, however—"

Severus snorted, an almost equine sound.

"Have you considered staying out here with the beasts, Severus? She and you are welcome to stay here, tending the beasts. We know we can trust you to keep them in line, unlike the Acromantulas and other monsters Hagrid has released over the years. I have discussed it with the herd, and we all agree that this is a symbiosis we would welcome."

"I will have Amelia discuss it with you, as we would have to set up a waypoint for fast travel from here to the 'base' as it were."

"Let her know I will parlay," Margorian said. "She may send one of her birds to let me know when."

Snape bowed slightly. "You honour us with your favour, Magorian."

Magorian smiled. "We centaur are very familiar with the flow and ebb of gods," he said. "Our history is peppered with them, but we have never, until now, been so fortunate to cast our fates to one so young— willing to learn, willing to listen. We would be fools to let such a thing pass by us. Even without such a heritage, she is a talented creature of nature who embraces the gifts of the Wild, beast of claw and fang. It takes a special sort to be so accepting that the body changes to the change. Both you and her are such beings. We can only hope your both grow a decent equine underbody befitting a centaur of the forest."

Snape snorted. "At this rate, I'll be lucky to wake up looking remotely human."

Magorian smiled. "You only have to be human from the chest up, my friend."

"Centaurs," Snape scoffed.

The centaur leader smiled.

* * *

Albus had  _such_ a headache.

It hadn't gone away since he had spoken to the Granger girl— or perhaps when he'd tried to have a battle of wills with Severus. Ever since Snape had taken the Oath to serve him in exchange for protecting Lily, Albus was used to the dour wizard doing whatever was asked of him. He considered it unfortunate that Lily had died anyway, but the Oath from Snape had still stood, something which Albus had used to get his spy amongst the Death Eaters as well as having someone to do his more insidious and displeasing work for him.

But after that situation at the Ministry— damn Molly bloody Weasley anyway— his little apprentice had inadvertently done what no one had been able to do until then: remove the Mark.

Perhaps, she had done more than that.

Perhaps, she had somehow purged the Oath from him as well.

Did she know?

How could she?

Bah. He held his head as his thoughts were hard to contain. Every time he thought of the girl, he was overwhelmed with a flood of hungers, needs, and thoughts that were not his own. None of them provided useful information— only drive. He wanted a really large, rare steak. He needed to pounce something, and his skin was terribly itchy like he needed lotion, he most desperately wanted a cuddle—argh.

He looked at Fawkes— the bird just  _begged_ to be pounced.

"Ke?" the phoenix said, eyeing the wizard with avian confusion.

Here birdy, birdy, birdy…

* * *

Minerva arrived in Albus' office to find poor Fawkes clinging to the ceiling, eyes whirling wildly, and Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore rolling around on the floor with the globe between his arms and legs like a hyperactive feline. In his mouth was a catnip mouse that looked like it had been transfigured from a chair cushion.

"Albus?"

Albus rolled over onto his back, making feline noises.

Minerva's face tried to pinch itself into a tight ball as she took out her wand and sent a quick Patronus to Poppy Pomfrey.

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey gave Minerva a puzzled, frustrated look.

"I have no idea what to tell you, Minerva. It's like he somehow managed to transfigure himself into a cat— but only mentally, not physically."

Minerva rubbed her temples. "He was perfectly fine yesterday, Poppy."

"I believe you."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"Send a Patronus to my friend at Mungo's perhaps," Poppy said thoughtfully. "Douglas was just appointed the new head of the mind healer unit in Janus Thickey. I'll transfer Albus there at once so he can get started on evaluating him. Merlin knows I wouldn't even know where to begin with… this."

"What are we going to tell the visiting staff?"

Poppy made a face. "I'm not quite sure, love. Maybe just be honest and say Albus came down with an unexpected ailment so you'll be taking over the headship until he's recovered enough to return."

Minerva's face wrinkled. "What on earth could have caused this?"

Poppy frowned. "Many things, Minerva. It could be that he experienced a mishap with a spell, or he ran into some sort of odd warding. Since he's not exactly the type to tell us what he's up to, it's really hard to say."

Minerva filled out the pertinent areas on Poppy's transfer paperwork, stamping her seal into the sealing wax with her signet ring. "I suppose we do what must be done."

Minerva froze as Albus tried to crawl into her lap.

" _ **ALBUS!"**_ Minerva cried, practically radiating extreme discomfort.

But Dumbledore, like any feline, instantly gravitated to the one who liked him least.

Poppy's eye twitched as she conjured a colourful yarn ball out of a clean bedpan and rescued Minerva from feline-Albus as she summoned an house-elf to bring her a dish of tuna and a packet of cat treats.

* * *

Draco was scared.

_Really_ scared.

His father and Severus had gone into a room together and hadn't come out in well over an hour.

The room was warded to suit Severus' personal paranoia level so Draco had no idea what in  _hell_ was going on.

True, he wasn't  _supposed_ to know.

True as well, he wasn't supposed to be there at all, but whenever his father and Severus talked, it was never about mundane things like the weather, and Draco desperately wanted to know what was going on.

The door opened as Hermione walked out, closing the door behind her.

"Draco?"

Draco sat on his rear where he had fallen in a failed attempt to escape notice. "Uh… hi."

Hermione's eyebrow lifted. "Trying to eavesdrop,hrm?"

"They've been in there for over an hour!" Draco protested, as if that justified everything.

"And?" Hermione said with a chuckle. She offered him a hand up.

"What are they talking about?" Draco demanded.

"It is not for me to say."

Draco gave her a thoroughly frustrated look. "Come on, Granger!"

Hermione shook her head. "I cannot say. If I were to break confidence, my master would have me flogged— or worse, expelled."

Draco stared at her. "You seriously think being expelled is  _worse_ than flogging?"

"Imagine what your father would do if you were to be expelled and  _then_ ask me that," Hermione retorted.

Draco thought a moment and swallowed hard. "Okay, I'll give you that."

Hermione hopped on Fenrir. "Ready to go, Fen?"

"Browl!" Fenrir agreed, his favourite stick in his mouth.

"Where you going in such a hurry?"

"Have to feed the creatures so they don't get into mischief," Hermione replied.

"I'll come with you."

"Coming with me with will not get more information out of me, Draco," Hermione said.

Draco flushed. "Maybe I just want to."

Hermione eyed him suspiciously. "I don't want to contribute to your delinquency and lose you house points. I know you're not allowed in the Forbidden Forest."

Draco pursed his lips. "I'm allowed to go if there is a person who is allowed to go is with me."

Hermione sniffed. "A loophole that will be corrected if your father finds out— or my master, whom I will tell if he asks."

Draco balked. "Why tattle?"

"I do not tattle on purpose, but I will not lie," Hermione said sternly. "And you know my master will always ask the questions you do not wish answered."

Draco scrunched his nose. "He never let me get away with anything."

Hermione sniffed. "Harry used to say he let you get away with everything."

Draco snorted. "He only thought that. He never saw what Severus made me do out of the public eye."

Hermione's eyebrows lifted, genuinely surprised. "You hid it well."

Draco shrugged. "You have to when you're Slytherin. You saw it when you were with us. Can't show dissension to anyone outside of Slytherin."

Hermione tilted her head. "Yes, I am aware," she replied grimly. Fenrir curled his lips back from his teeth in a grimace.

"Look," Draco said, staring into the wall. "I really appreciate you saving my father."

"I did not."

"You may not have been there, but had it not been for you— father would have died."

Hermione frowned. "I was not there."

"But you were," Draco said. "I think of all the things that happened to allowed my father to be saved, but the biggest thing— the only thing that truly changed— was you being in Severus' life and thus my father's."

Hermione lay her head on Fenrir's neck. "I'm not that special."

Draco snort-laughed. "Do you not look in a mirror on occasion? I don't mean your wings, otherly things, and your tattoos. I mean look at yourself and what you've accomplished. This is more than just tricks of fate. You have done more than others that supposedly have ambition and drive, but you do it with kindness and a genuine desire to help others. I don't think you realise how special that is."

Draco seemed to realise what he was saying and flushed, turning away.

Draco turned to see Hermione's hand extended. "Come on. I'll bring some of the creatures to me on the edge of the forest so you don't get in trouble."

Draco smiled and took her hand, allowing her to pull him behind her on Fenrir's back.

* * *

"So, how did you get them?" Draco asked.

Hermione tolerated Draco's inquisitive touch on her arms as he traced the glowing tattoos.

"Trust, I think," Hermione said. "It started with Aine— her gift to me when she trusted me, and I trusted her. But, ever since then, each time another beast gives me their trust, they change and expand to show them too."

"Just like that?"

Hermione frowned. "Yes?"

"I mean— you just trust them not to tear you to pieces?"

Hermione made a face. "Well I don't just walk up to a random dragon out in the wild and expect great things to happen."

"But they do respond well to you."

" _Ob_ viously," Hermione said, not even realising who she sounded like in that moment.

Draco did a small spit-take. "You sound  _just_ like Severus sometimes."

He touched Sofa's snout, amazed at how soft her scales and skin were despite her ferocious appearance.

Sofa, feeling magnanimous, calmly tolerated it as she surgically stripped the flesh off her venison dinner.

"Sofa, you have a spider leg hanging out of your—" Hermione tutted, walking right up as the dragon opened her maw wide. Hermione blasted it away with water from her wand, dislodging the errant leg from between the dragon's teeth.

Sofa licked her teeth with her tongue and then slurped Hermione once before going back to her meal.

Hermione sighed. "They  _love_ Acromantulas— for eating that is."

Draco shuddered. "Never liked spiders."

"I rather like certain spiders," Hermione said. "Acromantulas, however—"

"They are immune to your charms?"

Hermione snorted. "I am not charming  _any_ thing, Draco."

Draco looked a bit dubious. "Do you really sleep with them?"

Hermione blinked, her lips pursing. "I sleep, and many of them prefer to stay close."

Draco seemed a little unnerved by that. "Even with the Dementors?"

Hermione snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. The Dementors were my first real friends. I enjoy them being close. It's comforting."

Draco fidgeted. "I guess you really had a hard time of it, yeah? I know we didn't make it much better for you until you were Slytherin."

" That's a stupid reason to treat someone like shite, Draco Malfoy," Hermione's jaw tightened, and the Fenrir growled lowly from where he was lying nearby.

"It matters to Slytherin because  _everyone_ hates Slytherin," Draco said heavily, his shoulders tightening.

Hermione closed her eyes. "I suppose you're right. Things weren't just biased against me. The houses hated each other for every reason but real ones, forced to conform to their expectations or else be shunned when you didn't. To be fair. I did not hate you because you were Slytherin. I found you distasteful because you were a total arse."

Draco spluttered. "I guess I deserved that."

Hermione rubbed Sofa under the chin and placed her forehead against her snout. The dragon rumbled and picked up her bone, disappearing back into the foliage to go home.

"You really going to start a dragon training workshop?"

"More like a dragon relationship workshop for dragon trainers and their dragons. We hope to prevent the misunderstandings I've noticed in current dragon-person relationships— starting with the ones in Gringott's and the dragons that were brought here for the tournament."

"Do you really think it will work?"

"I know it works," Hermione said. "How people will accept it is unfortunately not my area of expertise. Viktor and Fleur are going to handle international relations. Your father has volunteered to do the speaking for Britain and the English speaking countries."

"If you don't think they'll believe in your methods, why even try the workshop?"

Hermione shrugged. "If we do not try, nothing changes for sure."

Bling and Grandfather glided in from the forest.

"Oh, thank you two very much," Hermione said, giving them both hugs. "I hope they didn't give you too much trouble."

The Dementors shook their heads, accepting her hugs.

The pre-curfew bell tolled back at Hogwarts, and Hermione stood up as Fenrir jumped up for her to get one. She pulled herself up and extended her hand. "Come on, let's take you back to the castle before you  _do_ get in trouble."

Draco said nothing as he pulled up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, flattening himself against her wings as Fenrir took off like a bullet across the green. Silent as he was, all he could think of was how glorious it was to ride on the back of a werewolf with two Dementors flying beside them like bodyguards.

Perhaps, he thought, there were quite a  _lot_ of things he needed to re-evaluate.

When they arrived at the main doors, Lucius and Severus were there waiting for them. Severus had his arms crossed in front of his chest, and Lucius mirrored both him and his scowl.

"Draco, shouldn't you be in— your dormitory by now?"

Draco slid off Fenrir and cast his eyes down to his feet. "Yes, Father."

"Curfew is almost upon you, boy. Get moving."

Draco scampered away, silently and with great haste.

Severus sighed and gestured for Hermione to come over, and she did. "You should not let that boy manipulate you into bending rules, Slytherin or no, as he will be sure to test your boundaries at every possible opportunity. He has done so since he was but a baby, wrapping Lucius around his tiny pinky."

Lucius scowled near audibly.

"Yes, Master," Hermione said, bowing her head.

"You kept him well out of the forest, and for that there will be no punishment, but do not allow him to play upon your sympathies, no matter  _how_ sincere or charming he might be."

"There was no harm done this time," Lucius said, using the back of his hand to rub his nose. "But, he is easily impressionable when it comes to dangerous pastimes. I do not wish him to take a fancy to riding dragons just because he sees you can. He will obsess for months and then he will rapidly lose interest for something better, or so he thinks. He once proclaimed to his mother that he wanted to be a Hit Wizard, and sent my Narcissa into a hysterical fit and his aunt— well, let us just say he was terrified out of that career choice."

Hermione's eyes widened and she nodded fervently.

"Fortunately for all of us," Lucius said, "my  _dear_ sister-in-law is rotting away in Azkaban with her unloved husband and brother-in-law. Last I heard, their condition seemed to have taken a rather bad turn when a certain malignant bum met his richly-deserved demise."

Hermione chewed on his implication and then nodded in acknowledgement.

"You just accept? Do you not question?"

Hermione shook her head. "I question often, but they can wait for when I am not where so many ears are open."

Lucius seemed taken aback by her cold logic— something he had not expected of the grandly emotional ex-Gryffindor. He looked at Severus, who only gave him a slight inclination of the head.

"Such wisdom," Lucius said, waving his hand. "Shall we retire to your little shack, hrm?"

"It is not a shack, Lucius," Severus said with a curl of his lip.

"Well it is hardly a  _home_ , Severus," Lucius said.

Severus scoffed. He used one wing to herd his apprentice and Lucius ahead of him. "Home," he said, "is where the things important to your future reside— things that cannot and will not be housed in a bank. Now, get moving."

Lucius wrinkled his nose but moved, and Hermione hooked one wing around his and walked dutifully home.

* * *

"Narcissa, she is going to a  _dance_ , not getting married, for Merlin's sake," Lucius sputtered as his wife bossed the tailors around. Hermione was trying to stand  _very_ still as sewing implements zoomed around her and a fiesty witch with a talent for hair tried a hundred different things on Hermione's bushy mane to bring it under control.

"I will not have her going to a dance looking like a waif!" Narcissa shot back, glowering at her husband.

Hermione tried to remain inconspicuous, flustered by all the attention from Lady Malfoy, of all people. She'd always thought that the Malfoys would rather cast her to the sea than be around her, let alone helping her with dress robes for the ball.

And there was no doubt that they were robes, for sure. No Muggle dresses masquerading as dress robes were allowed by the very proper Lady Malfoy. Hermione found feel the quality of the silk— second perhaps only to her spider charges, the Chaos Weavers and Blodwyn, herself.

The Chaos Weavers were gathered about, whispering furtively to themselves, and Hermione smiled as she realised they were learning what a "dress robe" was and were plotting tailoring mutiny behind Lady Malfoy's back.

Narcissa shooed them away with her fan, and the Weavers skittered away, only to shuffled back in more sneakily somewhere else, sneak in, do some measuring with their legs, and then pop out in a poof of chaos magick. Some of them ended up escaping, some of them ended up on the tea tray or another accidently showed up on the seamstress' face, causing the witch to shriek and flail about.

_Chaos Magick,_  Hermione thought.  _It is definitely chaotic._

She tried to stifle a giggle as they scampered over her wings and body to measure her for their own devices. She was used to it. Sometimes she'd wake up with new dressing robes… and already on her at that. They were very efficient. She had to admit her concept of personal space was changed quite a bit from when she was younger. Waking up with Dementors, cubs, pups, a python, and strangely cuddly Quaffle-sized spiders, dragonets, dragons… there just wasn't much  _need_ for personal space anymore.

As a young child, she'd hoarded her things like a dragon on gold because they were hers, but as she began to share her world with both her master and the furred and scaled, she wasn't so drawn to not share. To share helped out her friends, and she didn't have the same worry that they wouldn't be there tomorrow or the next day— unlike the ones she had thought were her friends.

_Still so bitter, Hermione?_  She thought to herself.  _Yes, yes, I am._

Just as Narcissa was about to hand over the small pouch of galleons over to her seamstress, an older witch stepped in, pushing the younger seamstress away. "We cannot help you."

"But, Milady Carrington! I've been Lady Malfoy's seam—"

The older witch scowled. "We do not serve  _her_  kind here," the witch sniffed. "There is nothing here for you. We cannot help you."

"But—"

The witch glowered at the seamstress. "And  _you,_  Agatha. You will collect all of your things and leave here at once."

"But, I've worked here for over twenty—"

Carrington glowered, and the other woman put her head down. "Yes, Milady Carrington."

The elder witch glowered, staring narrow-eyed daggers into the younger one. "And don't even  _bother_ asking for a reference, Agatha," she sneered. "I will be sending the Obliviation team to wipe out any and all patterns and skills you learned whilst under my employ."

"But  _I_  developed more than half of the patterns we have used over the years, Ursula!"

"Under  _my_ employ, and as your contract states, all patterns and styles you developed during that time are company property and thus owned by  _me_. And I assure you, you won't be leaving this place of business with anything that belongs to  _me_ , dear. Anything you worked on here is  _mine_."

The younger witch scowled. "You  _promised_ to take care of us. You  _said_ we were family!"

"Family does not associate with filthy common rabble like  _her_. Everyone knows that the  _pure_ magic does not corrupt itself with beasts, and she— no,  _it-_ is most definitely a  _beast_."

She clapped her hands, and two house-elves dressed in what looked like random scraps of cloth sewn together popped in. "Take everything this thing has touched and destroy it. I will not have it  _contaminating_ my other customers."

"Yes, Mistress," they chimed together, snapping their fingers as bolts of cloth and the chair Hermione had been sitting in promptly disappeared and she fell hard on her bum. Then, the white marble floor disappeared, the door, one wall, and—

Narcissa leaned down to whisper into Hermione's ear as she carefully helped her up. "Be a dear, love, and touch this counter while you're getting up."

Hermione staggered as she was pulled up, falling against the counter with a flop.

_Poof_.

The counter and everything attached to it immediately disappeared.

Grandfather floated up out of the space where the floor used to be and picked Hermione up, floating out the missing door with her cradled in his arms.

Narcissa, somehow managing to step up onto what remained of the floor, walked out of the store, pausing only once to look back at the horrified shop owner with a cool stare. "I  _do_ hope you have someone else to purchase a custom to use that special order silk I had planned to use for my dress robes, Ursula. Seeing as I— won't be permitted to use your services any longer."

Narcissa shuffled Hermione and Grandfather in front of her, hardly batting an eye as the Dementor allowed himself to be shuffled along.

As Narcissa left, Amelia Bones and her niece stood in the gaping space where the door used to be. "We'll be going somewhere else, I think, Susan." Amelia narrowed her eyes. "And you can just cancel that order for the upcoming Ministry gala, Ursula. We'll be taking our custom elsewhere, permanently."

Hermione, seeing Agatha's face so crestfallen, gently placed a hand on the seamstress' shoulder. "I have an idea, if you are willing to entertain me, but— it may require a change in lifestyle."

The seamstress looked into the girl's eyes. "You needn't do anything for me out of pity."

Hermione shook her head. "It's not. I need someone to guild my spiders."

A Chaos Weaver popped up on Hermione's shoulder and bounced on all eight legs. " _Oh hai."_

It waved its forelegs at her.

Agatha fainted dead away into Bling's arms.

Hermione frowned. "Oops."

* * *

_**Agatha's Enchanted Webistry** _

_**Now Open in Hogsmeade Village** _

_Agatha Winkle will amaze you with a stunning collection of exotic fabrics including the highly-coveted Acromantula and Chaos Weaver silk most carefully spun for the ultimate soft and silken fabrics that cannot be beaten for strength, softness, and incredible comfort._

_Come sample the luxury your skin craves with the lightness of a feather that is naturally proof against all elements, including rain and fire. A well-crafted robe from Agatha's will last the purchaser an entire lifetime, but its quality and care will have you coming back for more than just one of her glorious creations._

_While the top of the line Chaos Weaver silk and blends are by far the best you will find anywhere in the world, there are other types of silk ranging from Acromantula silk, fine China silks from the prized Kirin Moth, Australian Bat-Catcher spider-silk, and North American Wendigo-silk from the rare purple-spotted Wendigo-Webspinners. How Madam Winkle manages to get her hands on such rare and unique silks remains a closely-kept trade-secret. One thing is for sure, you won't find such fine materials and exclusive designs like these anywhere else in the magical world!_

_You can find this wonderful new store in Hogsmeade, near the train station. A special discount on school and dress robes will be running for Hogwarts students as well as for the visiting students and staff of Durmstrang and Beauxbatons._

_Buy once, love forever!_

* * *

**A/N:** Guess what? School starts up again on Monday. You know what  _ **that**_ means? Yup. Less writing time. I'll probably be more inspired because that is how it works, but I won't have much time because that is how my life is. ARGH, Booterang! (kudos if you got that reference.)


	6. Dressed to Distress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Yule Ball is coming.

**Beta Love:** The Dragon and the Rose, Dutchgirl01, Flyby Commander Shepard.

 **Newest Beta Love:** (All will be assimilated) Crazy Mishka (Resistance is futile)

 **A/N:** School is back in session. *whimper*

* * *

**Born Unto Darkness**

A Crackfic by Corvus Draconis

**Chapter Six**

_If it's true that men are such beasts, this must account for the fact_

_that most women are animal lovers._

_Doris Day_

Fleur grinned broadly as she helped round up the spiders for their feedings as Agatha clapped her hands and told all of them to take a refreshment break. The happy spiders skittered over to await their dinner, taking the plump moths, flies, and whatever else was on the menu for the evening directly from Fleur's hands. Little Gabrielle happily assisted, eager to prove her worth in all ways.

Agatha grinned, inspecting the spider-woven garments, all done after they inspected the original that Agatha had made and wove out copies with changes here and there to make them unique.

An eager team of defectors from Carrington's hand-dyed each of the fine silks to perfection, making their range of custom robes the best the world over—especially now that a small team of Chinese and Japanese silk artisans had succumbed to the lure of exotic silks to ply their crafts. They too boggled at the teams of eager spider weavers who seemed more happy to weave long into the night, as long as they were fed and were allowed cuddle-time. Often times, Hermione was somewhere in the shop on a silken cot or hammock with a pile of spiders on her as she napped or studied. Fenrir was often nearby, also covered in cuddle-craving worker-spiders.

Robes, scarves, jackets, blankets, and everything in between filled the store. Some people wanted ready-made, and most wanted custom orders, and they were willing to pay for the difference. Due to the spiders' unique spatial memory, they could feel out someone's old outfit and replicate it in their silk and then the team could dye it to their specific desires or alter it according to their current needs. It was a service few others could provide without the original patterns.

Professional Quidditch teams ordered entire sets of uniforms for their unmatched strength and resilience. Mungo's needed new uniforms for their staff, the Ministry wanted the very best for their officials, and the Aurors and DoM wanted durability as well as practicality and function. Even the student orders had come flooding in from parents of Hogwarts, Durmstrang, and Beauxbatons. Within but a month, Agatha had carved a grand new business out of nothing but the financial support and advice of the Malfoys to get them started, a huge clutter of happy spiders thanks to Hermione, and some expert legal help from Dewey, Cheatum, and Howe to keep her knowledge in her own head.

The legal experts even gave Hermione a substantial discount for her "business associate"—having her spiders rid their offices of the parchment munching pests as well as weave them rather dashing ties and silk suits and robes for their legal appearances.

They carved out fair contracts in writing, making sure all the employees had a share in any design they created, and then they had to deal with the rampaging horde of seamstresses that wanted interviews to work at Agatha's Enchanted Webistry.

All things said and done, Lucius was happy that Hermione and Severus were getting their fair share for the spider wrangling, Agatha was more than happy to split profits to pay for the honour of the spiders' special attention, and everyone was getting paid  _very_ well. The chief investors, the Malfoys, were very smug indeed.

As winter started creeping in, orders for the Yule Ball were a top priority. Agatha's seamstresses were all zipping around measuring girls, boys, and staff members for their custom dress robes.

The DoM would occasionally stop in and make sure the spider habitats were in good condition and no babies went out exploring Hogsmeade and tying up drunkards. Nor did they want people to be able to magic open the doors and let the very curious spiders out to explore without proper supervision. Alastor commented that would be an improvement, but Amelia said the questions that would arise would be far too difficult to explain.

When Hermione got her parcel from the shoppe, her eyes bugged out of her head as she saw the delicate flow of emerald silk trimmed in silver. A thin long-scarf wrapped around her neck and flowed down from a silver clasp, and a matching belt flowed down to the floor. When she touched the silk it was wispy as a Dementor's robes but strong and smooth.

Hermione stared at it in awe for days, unsure if she was fit to wear such exquisite things. Snape scoffed at that, saying that of all people she was fit to wear it, and she should stop fussing.

"They even put in slits for my wings!" Hermione said with awe.

"They know you have them," Snape said.

"But, they actually considered it when they made it!"

Snape shook his head at her, not wanting to get into the finer details of what custom tailoring was.

When a parcel arrived from Lucius, Severus found his own dress robes for the Yule Ball inside, and it was his turn to look discomfited and Hermione's turn to smile smugly.

The Dementors all looked confused with parcels arrived for them—all of them getting new, silken robes to wear.

A note was found within.

"I know your Grandfather likes his dreary and drab black as with the other old-timers, so these are all in the dreariest black I could make. Plenty of pockets, of course, waterproof, fireproof, acid-proof, base-pr—well, you get the idea. Thanks for all your help with setting up the shop. If it weren't for your Dementor friends, we'd never gotten the place settled so fast. The spiders are all darlings, every last one of them. We're all taking a break tomorrow from the flood of orders and giving them all a rest. All the best, Agatha."

Hermione smiled and then looked to see one of her Dementors was sporting new silks—the kind of thing anyone who knew anything about quality goods would have undoubtedly coveted in short order, but seeing as they had to battle a Dementor for it, it probably  _wasn't_ going to happen.

Hermione extended her hand, and he drifted over. She clasped his hands and smiled up at him, and the Dementor seemed to radiate pure happiness at her regard, sending tendrils of hoarfrost out from under him.

Hermione never asked  _how_ they decided who was going to stick with her on a given day, but she didn't question. They had it down to a system, whatever that was, and it worked for them.

Even Fenrir sported a new silk bandana that said, "Built Fjord Tough."

Hermione scratched her head in bemusement. Spiders—you just never knew  _what_ they would come up with or from where they would pull interesting words and jargon and mash them together in creative ways.

Already the spiders had made themselves useful playing pranks on the pranksters, tying them up in silk and leaving them for Mr Filch to find, concealing banana peels in strategic places, and even nicking jokes and traps left out for other students to find. The spiders thought it was super fun. Hermione wasn't sure what the original prankster believed happened, though.

Argus was quite amused, however, and he'd been in great spirits since he'd caught troublemakers all tied up with no way to escape, their wands dangling by silk oh-so-close but not  _quite_ close enough. Whether or not Peeves had anything to do with how they were found had yet to be proven, but the poltergeist seemed all too happy to take the time to cover them in leftovers from the Great Hall: slime, mud, and whatever else he saw fit to fling.

Perhaps, Hermione thought, they were a little  _too_ gungho about collecting pranking tools, as it seemed the spiders liked to bring back loot marked with the curiously businesslike logo of WWW.

Again with the WWW logo.

Hermione had frowned as she pondered it, the revelation floating just outside her sphere of awareness.

Perhaps her master would remember such things better than she could.

* * *

A small spider, just small enough to nestle in her palm, crawled to the edge of Hermione's study book. " _Cat witch would like to speak to you!"_ it squeaked.

Hermione tilted her head. "Okay, let me tell Master Snape."

After cleaning up her things, the little spider zoomed around her hair, braiding it and tying it up with spider silk to keep it under control. Hermione gave her little friend a plump stunned fly by zapping it with her magic, and the appreciative spider squeaked as it scurried off with it.

"Master," she addressed as she walked into the brewing area. She addressed him quietly, purposely dragging her toe claws on the floor to make a subtle warning as she walked. Nothing, she knew, was more dangerous than being surprised while brewing, not that her master was ever seemingly off-guard. Still—

Hermione waited, idly itching her ear with her wing and yawning, feeling it was far later than she'd expected it to be. Reading always took her into her own little world whether it be for study or light reading.

Contracts from far and wide had her master  _very_ busy, not only for the DoM but for people who were willing to pay exorbitant amounts of money just for Snape to brew it. There was, too, the projects they brewed that involved Dementor chill or the Volcanic Nightmare's fire—and those potions commanded a price that usually had them dining out somewhere very nice with Lucius and Narcissa.

Severus, she noticed, seemed much less stressed with his current work. Teaching crowds had always left a permanent scowl on his face. Maybe, she thought, it was children in general. Even so, he seemed perfectly fine with her and even content (dare she say happy?) with how things were going. He had such a range of emotions that were so subtle to find, but even on his more guarded days, she felt he had more emotional depth than Ronald had ever had.

Ronald and even Harry had two modes: hot and adamant or bored—at least it seemed that way.

As bubbles rose and signalled the finishing of the potion, Hermione noticed that Kai was there, happily helping "cuddle" the cauldron. The pup browled a greeting, tail wagging even as Severus ladled the potion into a line of ornate phials.

 _Wow, that must be for a well-paying customer,_  she thought.  _Those are the extra fancy crystal phials instead of the normal ones._

Snape had always preferred practical. Some potions required crystal. Some potions needed special charmed vials. These phials, however, were top of the line goblin crystal with white gold lips and sported a gem on top of the stopper—the focus of a powerful protective charm that made the phial impossible to casually break or even open unless it was purposely done.

The hospitals who needed life-preserving potions did not need such (perhaps overly) powerful charms, so even their golden elixir of healing needed no such fancy bottling. Judging by Kai's assistance, the potion had to be superheated, and there were only a few potions they worked on that required that.

"The Fertility Potion, Master?"

Snape nodded, carefully putting each phial in a box filled with shredded cedar. "Purebloods always value children—nothing as important as marriages that must produce an heir lest the marriage be nullified."

"They have to produce an heir, preferably male, to carry on the family name. There is almost always a time clause so they are willing to pay far too much even without having an enhanced potion such as this."

"The superheated element ensures that peak potency lasts much longer," he explained, "just as the superchilled element does for the healing potions."

Hermione nodded. "Master, I think Professor McGonagall wishes to see me this evening."

"Hn?" Snape narrowed his eyes. He closed the crate and sealed it, then Blodwyn appeared and disappeared with the crate with a poof.

"Echo gave me the message."

Snape nodded, his demeanor rather grim. "While Minerva is, by far, a much more considerate witch as well as acting headmistress,  _do_ keep me apprised as to what she would wish of you at such a peculiar time."

"Of course, Master," Hermione agreed.

"Here, take this up to Minerva. She will be expecting it." He handed her a jar of cream that held the distinctive scent of Scottish heather.

Hermione took it and bowed. "I will return soon, Master."

"Hn," Severus said, waving her off. "See that you do."

Hermione nodded and left the room with a sweep of her wings, missing the concerned look that crossed Snape's face as he itched one wing with the other.

* * *

Hagrid, having finished his lessons for the evening, made his way to the Headmistress' office to get leave from the main school to take care of Fang. The boarhound didn't even seem to notice he was gone-being the lazy, dozy sort. It made him wonder what sort of things he did where leaving for long periods without his dog had been so commonplace that the dog simply waited around for him to return with hardly a blink.

The tournament had taken a lot out of him, giving him far more study than he thought his brain could handle. He'd been allowed, due to his age and his "special" circumstances, to live in the same place he'd had on the grounds instead of the dorms with the younger students. He vaguely remembered his Gryffindor days. He remembered being happy until he had started to prefer non-human company—something the healers said had been the start of his compulsions.

He remembered most of the spells after having been refreshed on them, the cogs in his head turning like creaky old hinges that needed oil. Practice made it better, but it was work that made him wonder how he had done anything without magic in a magical school.

Then, there was the tournament—

He had this golden egg that screeched loudly at him. At first he thought he was going to die due to a banshee's wail, but it turned out not to be fatal. He'd dropped the egg into the lake in his surprise, and that had been to his favour. Now he had a riddle to solve, but he wasn't all that fond of riddles.

One of the main riddles was what he did before his healers discovered how he'd been manipulated. The hut he lived in outside the school suggested he had lived with so many animals that it had become filthy, and he'd obsessively cleaned it out—even throwing out a substantial amount of old, manky-smelling things that positively reeked of rodent pish.

Harry, Ron, the Weasley twins, and a handful of other students (all Gryffindor) assisted with the purging of his abode and putting cleaner things back in. That which couldn't be Scourgified had been burned in a flamboyant bonfire. Now, his hut had been repaired and cleaned, smelled of lemony pine, and he could actually see everything thanks to adding more lanterns. Studying the first night had made that an obvious need, and holding his wand with a Lumos spell did not appeal to him when studying.

When he seemed so baffled as to why he lived in such filth, Harry and Ron had said he just had so much on his mind, but they hadn't suspected that what he had on his mind had been planted there.

"Who would ever expect that?" Ron had blurted.

"No one, apparently," Harry had countered. "Half giants are resistant to magic. It's the last thing  _anyone_ would expect."

Ron had given Harry an odd look. "You living with that Shacklebolt bloke makes you too bloody thinky," he complained.

Hagrid was just happy to have some friends to talk to, even if they had to smack each other not to reveal something he wasn't supposed to know.

"After this tournament, we can talk freely," Harry had explained as he had magically stuffed a sock into Ron's mouth—a clean one, thankfully. It was one of Hagrid's, though, so it sort of engulfed his entire face.

As Hagrid reminisced about his situation, he stopped dead in his tracks. There in front of him was a dragon-girl—if but barely human. Alien, if not beautiful, dark purple dragonwings sprouted from her back and exotic tattoos glowed across her skin and fine scales. She waited by the gargoyle while giving the beast pets and scritches, rubbing behind his ears and making his leg pump in pleasure.

The beast pegged her with its tongue and the little stump of a tail wagged furiously. It was so innocently like a canine, that Hagrid boggled at how mundane the scene was despite it all.

"Rrrrk!" an obsidian dragonling said, pawing at the beast.

The larger gargoyle nosed the dragonling, and they played a bit together.

The path to the Headmaster's—Headmistress'—office was open for all to see, but Hagrid wasn't all that eager to test it, seeing as the gargoyle was, for lack of better description,  _huge_.

A smaller dragonet flew in slow circles around them both, chirring happily.

The girl rubbed the gargoyle's tongue with her hand and put a biscuit on it. The beast kept its mouth open as she inspected his teeth and then gave him the signal.

"Okay!" she said.

Thuuuup!

The tongue went shooting back into its mouth and the enthusiastic chewing commenced.

"Ah, Hermione, thank you for keeping Craig so happy," the acting Headmistress said.

"It's not a problem," the witch-beast said with a radiant smile.

"Here is the proposition for you and your master," Minerva said, handing her the scroll. "I'm sure he'll want to read it forward and backwards before speaking with me."

Hermione grinned. "Every contract is a trap," she recited.

Minerva laughed. "He would think so, but at least this is not asking him to come back and teach, no matter what Lucius Malfoy might think."

"That will help," Hermione said with a grin. "He  _loathes_ dunderheads."

Minerva chortled. "Always has, that one. Thank you for hearing me out, and I'll meet with Severus whenever he's able to. Please give him my thanks for the cream."

The beast-girl smiled so genuinely that the hall itself seemed to light up. Despite her distinct otherly-ness, her face shone. "I will."

Hermione bounced off after giving the gargoyle a warm hug, and the beast watched her leaving with a whine, clearly longing to join her.

Minerva lay a hand on the gargoyle's head and patted him. "Hello, Mr Hagrid. Are you here to get leave to see Fang and return to your abode?"

Hagrid nodded. "Yes, Ma'am, Deputy-er-Headmistress, sir, uh… ma'am?"

Minerva arched a brow. "Are you alright?"

Hagrid stared blankly after the beast-girl as she went on her way. "I feel like I should remember that girl," he muttered.

"She once attended Hogwarts as a student," Minerva said. "She is here with her master attending to other duties as her master requires."

Hagrid's eyebrows knit together in confusion.

Minerva just shook her head. "You knew her while she was here, Mr Hagrid."

Hagrid tilted his head, puzzled. "I think I would have remembered the likes of  _that_ , ma'am—wings and claws and all would be pretty memorable."

Minerva sighed. "She wasn't always like that."

"Was there some sort of accident?"

"Not in the way one might think."

Hagrid stroked his beard. "She do something horrible? Forbidden?"

Minerva's eyes narrowed. "No, Mr Hagrid. She did nothing wrong at all."

"But she looks like—"

"I would like to think, Mr Hagrid, that her outward appearance does not make you come to some utterly unwarranted, not to mention completely erroneous, conclusions," she said coolly. "Remember, it was outward appearances that had you condemned without further ado back in the day."

"But I was—"

"Whether you were ensorcelled or not makes little difference, Mr Hagrid. Appearances are often the first to take root and the last to leave, isn't that so?"

Hagrid tightened his shoulders. "Yes, Headmistress." Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock. "Wait. That be  _ **our**_ Hermione? Hermione  _ **GRANGER?**_ "

"Indeed she was and is," Minerva replied.

"But, that means—" Hagrid's brows knit together tightly. "Sumthin' musta 'appened to 'er once she left 'ere."

"Prejudice does not simply disappear because you move away," Minerva said grimly. "One can only hope to find more understanding and support elsewhere to make life more bearable."

"She looked—'appy," Hagrid said slowly.

"She is," Minerva confirmed.

"But—Hogwart's is the best school in all o' Europe! Why wouldn't she stay here? Surely then she wouldn't have to run around part animal!"

Minerva's scowl was almost audible. "Mr Hagrid, I know you have been a wee frazzled between the grey cells lately due to your deconditioning and all in a healer's care as well as your role in the tournament, but rest assured that Miss Granger is getting a fine education, and it was because of those in Hogwarts that pressured Professor Snape to take another position and take her with him."

"But, she 'as Gryffindor! She had 'arry and Ron and all of Gryffindor if she were in trouble. They would 'ave 'elped her, they would!"

"No, Mr Hagrid," Minerva said grimly. "The only thing Gryffindor did for her was open the door to shove her out of it, then closing it quite firmly behind her."

Hagrid, clearly thinking he was missing something great to ever believe that Gryffindor would do such a thing, frowned, but even as he did so, a blur of feathers and scales blew by the tower window as Fawkes led Hermione on a merry chase in the darkening sky, his feathers aflame to light the way. A dragonet and a young dragonling tumbled and flew behind them, trying to catch up. Just as Hagrid moved to the window to look out, a dark swath of wings blotted out the window.

"What the—"

Hagrid stumbled forward to look out the window to see Snape— or what might have been Snape if Snape had grown bloody great dragon wings— flying behind the beast-girl. He flapped his wings lazily, their size allowing him to sail the updrafts with seemingly effortless skill.

He made for quite an impressive sight, even if he wasn't Snape. Hagrid couldn't be sure— but the familiar curtain of oily black hair, the billowing black robes. Who  _else_ could it be?

Yet—

Watching them dip and sway, roll, and glide side by side, with the bea—  _Hermione_ —reaching out with one wing to touch Snape's— Hagrid felt a sharp stab of guilt begin to gnaw at his stomach.

 _That can't be 'ermione,_ Hagrid thought stubbornly.  _That couldn't be Snape. He would never let anyone, let alone a Gryffindor witch, touch him after—_

Even as his thoughts absolutely refused to allow him to accept the sight in front of him, Hermione landed on the ramparts nearby, laughing as the little dragonet zipped and twirled around her. The little black dragonling thumped into her arms and fanned her wings, snuggling up to Hermione's chin and neck.

"Tov, you silly lady," Hermione gushed, and for a moment Hagrid focused on her voice and realised what he'd been denying.

The dark draconic shape landed with a fan of wings and Hermione looked up at him with nothing short of exhilaration and trust.

"That was wonderful, master!" Hermione said with a laugh.

Snape looked down at her, his expression softened. "It has been a while since we had a good chase."

Fawkes warbled nearby, singing  _I Did It My Way._

Hermione eyed Fawkes. "You did  _what?"_

Hermione's eyes got really wide.

"What did the combustible feather duster do this time?" Snape asked dryly, rubbing the back of his wing with his hand as he curled the membrane around himself.

Hermione instinctively rubbed her wing against his as if to beg forgiveness.

Snape's brows knit together. "Apprentice."

"He put a paper into the goblet in trade for a basket of fresh fruit," Hermione said. "Apparently, the Headmaster hadn't fed him in  _days_ , so—"

Snape's eye twitched. "The Goblet of Fire was hoodwinked by a  _bird?_ "

Fawkes dangled upside down from a lantern sconce, using one foot to hold a peach he had acquired from somewhere. His beak tore into the fleshy prize as the bird ignored the utterly incredulous look Snape was giving him.

Fawkes flipped up into the air and landed on Hermione's arm, his wings spread like a thunderbird totem at the top of the carved totem pole. There was a rush of heat and a golden radiance as a crown of gold and red feathers mixed with Hermione's hair as her tattoos shifted to make room for a certain ornery bird's mark.

Hermione looked up at Snape as colourful feathers poked out of his normally midnight hair. She looked down. "I'm sorry, Master!"

Snape's talons closed around a crimson and gold feather that had infiltrated his hair, and he sighed deeply. "Weren't you Albus' familiar, bird?"

Fawkes warbled cheerily, his breath smelling suspiciously of sangria.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Why do I have the feeling you were drunk on bad fruit when you agreed to that little proposition?"

Fawkes chirped innocently, imitating a robin.

Snape looked the phoenix in the eyes. "Who put you up to this stunt, you little fire-hazard?"

Fawkes tilted his head, looking down his beak at Snape.

Snape fanned out one wing, curling it around Hermione and guiding her in. "Come, let's go tell Minerva before she has a—"

"Nundu?" Hermione volunteered.

Severus grunted. "Worse."

"Kraken?"

"Most likely."

"That is a rather startling and disturbing mental image, Master."

"Yes, and now you can share it with me."

"Do I thank or curse you for that?"

"Yes."

"Rumour has it that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin got knackered together and made Rowena Ravenclaw so angry that she magically birthed a Kraken so it would drag them both to the bottom of Black Lake."

"That wasn't in  _Hogwarts: a History!_ " Hermione protested.

Snape snorted. "Do you really think something that embarrassing would be in the official record?"

Hermione looked down. "No, I know  _I_ wouldn't want that in there if it had happened to me."

"Supposedly, the giant squid is one of that most ancient line— a permanent reminder that one should probably not brass off a Ravenclaw but also that when Gryffindors and Slytherins go drinking together, bad things tend to happen."

Hermione looked a bit dubious. "Usually drinking makes bad things happen  _whenever_  excess consumption is involved."

Snape lifted one brow at her. "Hn."

As Snape shuffled her forward with his wing, Hermione fell in line and allowed her master to herd her forward.

They arrived in Minerva's office to find Hagrid staring at them— still standing by the open window where he had been blatantly spying on them.

Hermione eyed Hagrid with a little trepidation, her wing tangling around Snape's with a noticeable tremble of uncertainty.

Hagrid accusing her of "stealing" his dragon had  _not_ gone over well with her, and she'd been avoiding any and all contact with the burly half-giant despite his supposed therapy at Mungo's. Even knowing it wasn't his fault that he'd thrown himself at Sofa's eggs and tried to make off with the lot, there was a whole laundry hamper full of reasons why Hermione would rather not mingle for long with Hagrid.

There was also the fact that she'd only just barely managed to get Sofa calmed down before the Hungarian Horntail tore the grounds apart to get at Hagrid and literally eat him alive and screaming—

Snape, sensing her acute distress, promptly stood in front of her, channelling every bit of the signature billow he'd developed over the years as he tucked her under his wings and away.

"We will return… later," he said coolly, giving a curl of his lip. "Headmistress," he intoned politely, his eyes looking more draconic and taking on an unnerving glow.

Before Minerva could even say a word edgewise, the pair was gone in a blur of black and violet wings.

Fawkes gave a startled squawk and flew out of the room as well, chasing after his new favourite perch.

Minerva seemed caught between a scowl and a sigh.

Hagrid fidgeted, his eyes looking in a few different directions. "I— uh," he started to say. "I take it we're not really on the best of terms?"

Minerva's sigh won out, and she let out her breath heavily. "No, Mr Hagrid. I fear there are very few people that she trusts anymore. And understandably so."

"Perfesser Snape  _ **knows**_ me!" Hagrid said. "He could tell 'er!"

McGonagall tried not to scoff at him  _too_ obviously. "Severus is all too aware of what drove his apprentice into danger, Mr Hagrid."

Just as she said that Fenrir padded in and looked around, puzzled. A smaller-than-a-Mark-Spider arachnid bounced between his ears. " _She said she'd be here. Huh. Guess we keep looking._

Fenrir licked his chops and padded out of the room, his claws clacking on the stone floor in a strange cadence.

Hagrid rubbed his head. "I feel like I'm missing something really huge just inside me own head," he complained.

Minerva looked at Hagrid, her shoulders sagging. "Focus on the task ahead, Mr Hagrid. The rest can wait until that is done."

"Ron and 'arry said they would come by to help me with me lessons, Headmistress," Hagrid said. "Would it be alright for them to join me at me hut fer a cuppa?"

McGonagall nodded briefly. "Aye, Mr Hagrid. They may, but they must return to their dorm by curfew."

"Oh, I'll tell 'em," Hagrid reassured.

As Hagrid walked out of the office, Minerva squared her shoulders. "It's not the tellin' I be worried about."

* * *

"Oh, come on Harry," Ron complained. "If you can't sing above the ground, then it's  _ **obviously**_ underground somewhere! Maybe it's a singing dungeon bat!"

Harry frowned. "I really don't think that's it, Ron. The egg sang under water, so it would be more logi—"

Ron thumped Harry with his arm.

" _ **Ow!**_ What was  _ **that**_ for?"

"Just because the egg sang under water doesn't mean the entire event is underwater. It's not like you can breathe underwater, so what good would that do?"

Harry looked unconvinced.

"Wut you staring at me for?" Ron asked, stuffing a sausage roll into his craw.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asked.

"Kept it from dinner," Ron said, waving him off.

Harry cringed. "There's  _lint_ on it."

"Don't harm nuttin'," Ron snorted. "Just from my pocket."

"That's bloody foul, mate," Harry muttered.

"It's not even a day old," Ron muttered. "Leave me alone." His words were garbled as he ate the sausage, sounding something like "Ihf nawh efena dah eulph. Leaf meh ahwown."

"I swear you must have a tapeworm farm in your stomach, Ron," Harry said, shuddering. "And I  _don't_ mean the things we use to paste parchments on the wall."

Ron was chewing heavily as he pulled out his wand. He pointed it towards the parchment on the table as if to aim at it, but the grease-coated wand was sticking to his fingers and moved to point at Harry instead.

Hagrid pulled out his own wand to attempt to deflect the spell just as Fang leapt up to grab the steak off his plate, nudging Hagrid's arm just enough so the spell zinged straight towards Ron.

Fang yelped and dove for cover, conveniently with the juicy steak still clutched in his jaws. He watched the ensuing light show and sound effects with canine fascination, absently gnawing on his tasty prize.

The two spells clashed together quite badly in a flash of mud-coloured magic as two different lights met together in a swirl of odd sound effects that seemed taken out of a Saturday morning cartoon. Pastel flowers whirled and exploded outward as Ron and Hagrid went flying, knocked arse-over-tit across the room.

_**Klickerdink-er-dink!** _

_**THUMP!** _

_**ZiiiPONG!** _

_**DOINK!** _

A cloud of ominous green and yellow vapour lingered.

Harry coughed and waved his hand frantically in front of his face, clearing away the pungent smoke that smelled like dog breath and unwashed clothes with a side of flatulence.

"Whoa! Far out, man! I can already taste those chocolate-covered hotdogs!"

"Heehehehheheheee!" a replying voice giggle-growled.

Harry rubbed his eyes as he saw a scrawny teen with shaggy orange-brown hair and odd whiskers poking out of his chin sitting in a pile of— chocolate covered weiners. The teen, who was dressed in baggy pants and a green shirt, stuffed a hotdog into his mouth with glee, making it disappear with preternatural speed. Meanwhile, a large great dane with an odd bristly beard shook his head as he tried to mow his way through the pile of food.

Harry thunked his head on the table and carefully kept himself away from the mess. "What the— is going on here?!"

"You want that, Hagri-doo?"

"Rut uh."

"Here, you can have this jellybean and sardine sandwich."

"Rohkay, Raggy!"

Harry ran outside and hurled violently in the pumpkin patch.

"What's his problem, Hagri-doo?"

"Ri dunno," the great dane said. "Ri'm rhungry."

"Me too, Hagri-doo! Let's go raid the kitchen!"

"Rohkay!"

The pair trampled a groaning Harry Potter into the dust on the way to the kitchen as they left in a cloud of dust and random sound effects.

Harry groaned and settled to recover on the ground.

Meanwhile, the transformed duo had managed to make their way to the Hogwarts' kitchens without leaving too large a trail of destruction. Until they got there.

* * *

"What do you  _mean_ all the food is gone?" Minerva asked the house elf, her brows forming a sharp "v" of ultimate disapproval.

The house-elves started wailing and beating themselves over the head with pots and pans.

"Can't cook! All the food is gone!"

"All the food?"

"All of it!"

"All the food?" Minerva repeated in a much quieter, stunned voice.

"Even the— vegetables!" the head house-elf bemoaned.

Minerva slowly counted to ten… in Gaelic. "Dinner hour is in less than an hour."

The house-elves wailed and beat themselves silly with random objects from Dumbledore's office. "We have no way to fix this!" they wailed. "The horse-people  _ **hate**_ when we harvest from the forest!"

"Centaurs?"

The house-elves nodded.

"I will tend to this situation, but you all must promise not to get all bent out of shape because the food is coming from somewhere else until this crisis is dealt with."

"We promises!" the elves cried in a chorus of their squeaky voices.

Minerva sighed and opened the Headmaster's office window, walking out onto the balcony to find Fawkes dangling upside down from his foot as he ate a persimmon.

"Kek?" the phoenix queried. He gave a small hiccup, smelling of fermented fruit.

"Fawkes, are you too drunk to fly?"

Fawkes seemed to frown as he righted himself on the perch.

"I need to speak with Severus, if you would be so kind as to relay the message."

Fawkes belched, smelling of fruit punch, and flew off to the forest.

Minerva absently rubbed the space between her eyes.

* * *

" _ **AHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!"**_

The two food bandits ran screaming from the Great Hall as a crack squadron-clutter of eager spiders appeared, setting the tables, laying out food, and pressing the tablecloths.

As the first students trickled in from both Hogwarts and the visiting schools, the spiders had already vanished, having completed their jobs. They left the rest to the house-elves, allowing them to tend the tables, change the platters out, and serve the cycle of students.

"Quite an interesting spread of food today, Minerva," Flitwick said as he sat down to eat. "What is the special occasion?"

The normal fare had been replaced with a Scottish holiday banquet and a mixture of both French and Bulgarian foods, much to the delight of their guests.

"I haven't had borscht since my grandmother made it," Headmistress Fendrikova said with approval. She lifted her spoon from the rich soup in salute.

Madam Maxime seemed to approve greatly of the fabulous French fare, enjoying the homemade vinaigrette on her salad before moving on to a delectable-looking coq au vin.

"'Tis good to see that your elves have respect for our culture as well. Your foods are not horrible, but sometimes, I think I miss a bit of home," Fendrikova said with an agreeable nod.

Minerva could only smile and nod, pretending that it was all completely intentional, silently thanking the very helpful spider brigade, Severus, Hermione, and even a certain intoxicated phoenix. Making a mental note to bring Severus a jar of the elusive Scottish Mana Thistle in thanks, she made a show of enjoying her roasted grouse, some Arbroath smokie, and a steaming bowl of cullen skink.

"Say, Minerva?" Hooch said.

"Hrm?"

"Who was the strange teen with the dog?"

Minerva closed her eyes. "I have a feeling I know who those two were," she said after a while, "but I'm not dealing with them until I have a full stomach and a strong pot of Scottish Blend in me."

Pomona smiled, recognising Minerva's expression. "I, for one, am enjoying the meal," she said, enthusiastically digging into her plate of pan-fried sea bream and whisky-mac prawns.

"Here, here, Pomona," Sinistra said, spooning up another mouthful of a delightful gyuvech.

The head table was silent, save for the sounds of eating, and, for once, it seemed as if all the students were too busy eating themselves silly to bicker and get into trouble.

* * *

The forest was alive with autumn harvesting and winter preparation activity, and the foals were all racing back and forth from the forest to the main camp to deliver their baskets of nuts and berries, fish, and the spoils of various successful hunts.

Viktor used his wings to buffet the tops of the fig trees, and Hermione used spells to gently cushion their descent to where the foals could collect them. The Animagus Roc seemed utterly amused by the use of his size and wings, and he made a show of it like he did everything else in his life, wowing the crowd of centaurs as easily as he did the Quidditch fans.

Severus watched the proceedings carefully even as he assisted Magorian and his herd with food preservation— with a little help from some flash-freezing Dementors and heat-prone Volcanic Nightmare pups.

The Dementors seemed amused by the in-ground storage cellars, extending their hoarfrost into the dark earth even as Severus locked it in place with runes: the perfect cold-storage that combined centaur tradition with a little extra oomph.

The mares were busy cutting, drying, and making convenient, easily storable foods like pemmican— cooking and drying the lean meats, pounding the meat into something that was almost dust, then pounding fruit and nuts into the pulverised meat, mixing it with rendered fat, and laying it out thinly to dry. They seemed to spend significantly more time shooing the (always) hungry foals away from their hard work than grinding.

Viktor, given approval for his "senior project" in helping the centaur winterize their stores and learn their ways, had no problems spending more time with Hermione as well, and it seemed to please both him and her to be spending time with each other.

Viktor spent equal amounts of time learning how to make foods, helping the mares stuff their homemade dumplings with everything from venison, mushrooms, fruit, potatoes, and cabbages taken (with permission) from Hermione and Severus' garden. Viktor even bartered for sour cream from a local farmer and taught the mares some variations of his mother's favourite dumplings and the ever-popular cabbage rolls.

The mares made a lovely ground maize dish which they mixed with meat fat and cheese, cooking it over the fire to smoked perfection, adding bits of herbs, mushrooms and other favourite bits to lure even the pickiest of foals to the cooking fire.

Hermione helped make a sort of "is this meat jelly?" with the mares, boggling how things she didn't normally consider food mixed with vegetables and simmered into a gloriously scented broth. They poured it into handcrafted leaf molds, making a sort of jelly as it cooled, and that, too, went into the cold storage for later use. Hermione confessed, after it was made and she managed to taste a bit of it, that it was far more glorious than her mind had tried to tell her it was.

Bertje was enjoying herself as she roasted hazelnuts, chestnuts and other forest fare, amusing the elder centaur greatly. Tov attempted to emulate her, and she charred a few batches before she learned that breathing the hottest fire onto the nuts was not effective at gaining adulation.

High Master Fendrikova visited after the main classes were done, and she chatted with Magorian. She paid her respects by gifting the whole herd (rather than just him) with thick, woolen blankets trimmed in fur so that they could meet the bitter winter months without flinching. She'd done right by the herd, and Magorian accepted her offering and her respect given to the whole herd rather than just the individual.

As night fell and the entire herd gathered together for supper and conversation, the adults shuffled the foals to the winter shelters while the stories lasted long into the night before they all tucked themselves away for sleep. Severus led Hermione back home as High Master Fendrikova escorted Viktor back to the ship for a well-earned sleep.

Their exhaustion was so thick that no one noticed two master-level nose-followers walking right into the cold-storage and helping themselves to the stores.

* * *

"Zoinks! We'll just be, uh, leaving, Mr Centaur, sir!" Raggy blurted as Hagridoo nodded his head rapidly.

"Uh huh!" he agreed. "Ri rotally rill!"

"After you have devoured every bit of food from our winter storage?!"

"Rut roh, Raggy!"

"I  _ **told**_ you we should have made ourselves a takeaway bag instead, Hagroob!"

"Nut-uh. Ri rold roo!"

"Let's get out of here, Hagridoo!"

"Ruh huh!"

The two tore out of the storage at top speed, their legs moving so fast that they were hard to see— deeper into the dark, dark forest.

" _ **ZOINKS!"**_

" _ **YIPE!"**_

Crash.

Rumble.

Tinkletinkletat.

THUMP.

"Oh! Sorry, Mr Spider, Sir. We'll just be—  **AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"**

"Odysseus," Magorian said. "Why is our larder empty?"

The pinto centaur grit his teeth. "Interlopers, Magorian. Firenze said her heard chewing coming from the storage, and when I came to check, there was a scrawny-looking human foal and a dog having gorged on our stores. Nothing is left in this one."

"The others?"

"The others were warded with magic by herd-friends Severus and Katarina. This was the only one that was not so guarded because it was not quite full yet."

Magorian narrowed his eyes. "So we lost all the fish we smoked today, the fruit leather, and the pemmican."

Odysseus snorted and nodded, clearly wanting to chase after the ones that had cleaned out an almost full larder of winter stock in one sitting.

"Were they foals from Hogwarts?"

"I could not tell, Magorian."

"Better to err on the side of caution. I will speak with the acting Headmistress about these slights against our people."

* * *

"You hear about what happened with Ron and Hagrid?"

"No, what's going on, Seamus?"

"A collision of magic transformed them into rampaging eating machines that ate all the food in Hogwarts and tried to do the same to the Forbidden Forest!"

Neville blinked. "Wait— the great dane and that weird scruffy-looking bloke?"

"Yeah— turns out the dog was Hagrid and the scruffy one was Ron." Seamus shook his head. "McGonagall has them both harvesting apples from the orchard and nuts from the Wheezing Walnut orchard."

"They are trusting them with food? Is that even wise?" Neville asked. "Ron inhaled food even before the accidental magic!"

"Professor Sprout is supervising them," Seamus said, grinning madly. "She's out in the orchard having her tea and sunning herself in a lounge chair. That magical fern is fanning her— you know, the one that knocked Lavender into a barrel of water for singing out of tune?"

Neville's eyes gained wrinkles around them. "She's harsh when she's doing detentions. She gave Colin an extra day of detention for swearing and Dennis another day just for complaining."

Seamus' smug smile seemed to indicate he was fully aware of exactly what that meant for Ron and Hagrid— if only because it meant he wasn't there joining them for some reason.

"What are you smiling about, Seamus?"

Seamus grinned. "Something odd happened when they dispelled the magic."

"More odd than the transfiguration?"

"Maybe."

"What?"

"The magic created two large spiders that scream 'Jinkies' and 'Zoinks' whenever they are startled— which is every time either Ron or Hagrid see them."

"Ron  _hates_ spiders."

"Uh-huh."

"Hagrid isn't a fan either since he was decursed."

"Mmhmm."

"Why the shite-eating grin, mate?" Neville asked.

"Apparently Jinkies and Zoinks really want cuddles of reassurance— from  _them_."

Neville blinked, turned purple, and then burst out laughing hysterically. "Awww, shite." He sniffled, rubbing his nose. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

* * *

Ginny stared at the vast array of beautifully coloured fabrics at Agatha's Enchanted Webistry, stroking the exotic silks with awe. "Please, Bill! It's the Yule Ball! I want to at least look like the other girls and not like I just pulled moth-ridden rags out of Aunt Muriel's trunk!"

"There is nothing wrong with these other dresses, Ginny," Bill said logically. "If it was just you I had to worry about, then it wouldn't be an issue, but I have to support you, Ron,  _and_ the twins until Dad is back on his feet. I've got a flat in Egypt that I'm still paying on, and just because you want a better dress does not mean you have to have one."

"But— it's the Yule Ball!" Ginny cried.

"Ginny, please pick out some dresses from the racks and try them on," Bill said sternly. "These are all fine dresses. Just because they aren't custom-made to your specifications doesn't make them any less beautiful."

A purple and crimson spider hopped up and down on the nearby rack. " _I know something you'd look really good in!"_

A black and blue-spotted spider quickly agreed. " _Oh, yes! This way! Come on!"_

The pair scurried over to another rack, hopping a few racks over to a line of long floaty dresses.

"But— these are all long dresses! You can't even see my legs—"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley! I will not have my sister wearing tarted-up Knockturn Alley bordello robes to a once-in-a-lifetime Yule Ball where everyone can see you!"

" _This one, this one!"_ the spiders cheered. They bounced up and down on a beautiful cream-coloured dress robe with a full, floaty under-robe, demure silken shoulder straps and an intricate ivy-like design done in gold thread and delicate seed pearls.

Ginny purposely avoided looking, determined to not like  _any_ thing that was pre-made.

"Look at the dress, Ginny," Bill ordered her. "Or we can go to Gladrags and get you one of the dresses that every other witch will have off the bargain rack."

Ginny balked. "But I don't  _want_ to look like anyone else!"

" _This dress will look beautiful on you!"_ the spiders said encouragingly. " _Please look!"_

" _We made it carefully!"_

" _We made it with our very own silk!"_

" _No second hand silk here!"_

" _Nope, straight from our spinnerets,"_ they enthused, waving said spinnerets joyfully.

" _Come on!"_

" _Won't you at least look?"_

"Ah, there you go, my lass!" an older witch said with satisfaction as she slightly tweaked the hem on a set of shimmering silver dress robes. "It's loose so you don't have that silly form-fitting thing going on. Much more flattering when you keep the crowds guessing rather than leaving nothing to the imagination, yes?"

"Thank you so much, Madam Winkle!"

"Tut, it's Agatha, Miss Apprentice, as well you know."

"Hermione."

"It's a deal."

Hermione grinned at the elder seamstress. Her wings flipped out with a flap, and ornate wing ornaments tinkled like tiny bells.

"They're so beautiful, Agatha!"

"I had plenty of time practicing on your master, my dear," she said. "He's much harder. Too tall and a lot more wingspan."

Hermione grinned. "He does like his wingspan."

He's a real billower, that one," Agatha said with a grin.

"Oh, here are the special vitamins for the spiders," Hermione said. "Master Snape blended them for support of strong silk production and happier, healthier arachnids."

"Oh, what a dear," Agatha sighed, accepting the bottle with clear gratitude. "Same formula? One drop to a flask and one drop per spider?"

Hermione nodded. "Half a drop for the Humperdink Hairy-Legged Spiders, since they are so tiny. It won't kill them, but they'll get incredibly hyper."

"Brilliant. Please tell him thank you for me. They all do wonderfully intricate weaving work, but the hyper ones certainly come up with some truly astonishing psychedelic patterns."

"I will," Hermione said with a giggle. "You know, there is a student named Luna Lovegood who would  _love_ a dress made with psychedelic weaving, I'm fairly certain."

"Oh, she already bought the entire lot for special occasions. Quite a unique young witch, I must say."

Hermione laughed. "Excellent. And she certainly is, but she has quite a way with the not-so-average beast. You won't find many a kinder soul than Luna."

Agatha smiled. "Aye, she's a definite keeper. The spiders all love her, of course."

"I would expect no less," Hermione said.

"Ah, child, did you find one for yourself?" Agatha asked, as Ginny plunked the lovely cream-coloured dress on the checkout counter. "Here, let's hem and trim it up so it fits you like a glove. If you'll excuse me, Hermione."

Hermione nodded. "Thanks again!" She took the bundle of dress robes and then was robbed by Bling, who carried it for her. She laughed, kissing the spiders on the back before turning to leave.

She nodded to Ginny as she passed. "Miss Weasley."

"Hermione," Ginny replied, tightly. She turned to Agatha. "Can you trim it short so it shows off my legs?"

"Why in Merlin's name would you want to do that, child?" Agatha asked in astonishment. "All the girls are wearing the latest—"

"Not the ones who have bought their dress robes from  _me_ , dear," the seamstress said.

"But it wouldn't cost more to just hem it higher, yeah?" Ginny insisted stubbornly.

"Ginny,  _enough_ ," Bill said. "Please hem it to normal expectations," he said to Agatha.

Ginny stalked off to the dressing rooms to put on the dress.

Agatha sighed. "The young are often the most eager to grasp onto new looks and share their supposedly womanly assets the likes of Knockturn Alley.

"Taking her time puttin' in on," Bill said, visibly annoyed.

Ginny came back out, looking quite proud of herself. The dress had been inexpertly trimmed to nearly mid-thigh to show not only her ankles but substantially more as well.

"Oh, no!" Agatha cried.

Bill's face turned a very deep red with absolute mortification.

" _ **Emergency!"**_  the spiders cried. " _ **Code red!"**_

Spiders streamed from various places, pouncing on the tattered threads and connecting strands with their spinnerets, weaving and bobbing, swarming in unison to extend the fabric back down to the floor.

" _Bring in the ironwebs!"_

The spiders scurried and weaved, restoring the dress robes down to Ginny's ankles.

" _Phew!"_

" _Crisis averted!"_

Dark grey ironweb spiders rubbed their fuzzy abdomens and scurried off, disappearing into the back.

"Well now, that looks  _much_ better," Agatha said with a slight frown. "I will warn you, Miss Weasley, that when you leave here, the dress will be charmed resistant to any alterations that are not performed by us. Standard procedure for all of our work to prevent any unfortunate misunderstandings that our work is in any way shoddy or half-baked. There you go. Beautiful."

Bill nodded. "That is beautiful work, thank you, Madam Winkle."

Ginny pouted at that, sullenly crossing her thin arms across her chest.

"You'll be a bright spot at the Yule Ball, lass," Agatha said. "Whoever will be taking you will be right proud to do so."

"No one is going to want to take me looking like some old hag…. like Professor McGonagall!"

Bill scowled. "You'll be lucky to be going at all with that mouth, Ginevra Weasley. Now, I promised to make sure you lot had all the necessities, but that did not include tolerating your shameful ingratitude. The robes here are high quality and new, which often do not come together."

"Mum and dad got me new things all the time!"

"Because you were a  _girl_ , and Mum didn't want you dressing like a boy. Otherwise you'd have been wearing used clothes just like the rest of us growing up, and I guarantee you that mum and dad would rather  _die_ than have you wear something tarty and revealing to a school dance."

"Fine," Ginny snapped, storming away to take the dress off.

Agatha sighed. "I've seen worse. Some of the other Pureblood families threatened to castrate and even disown their children if they didn't suck it up and wear something appropriate."

Bill blinked. "Hard to tell if that would be an overreaction after what she's put me through today."

Agatha patted him kindly on the shoulder. "Why don't we help you with the seams on your robes, my friend. "I know cursebreaker strain on the robes when I see it. We can fix you up at a discount for our cursebreaker friends in the field. My grandson, Roland, is doing that in Greece."

"Thank you, ma'am."

Agatha smiled up at him. "Just stand here, love. Let my little friends here look you over."

" _Ooo! Project time!"_

" _Yay time!"_

" _Bonsai!"_

Eager spiders swarmed all over Bill, pulling his robes together and silk-sewing the seams together neatly and adding strong new thread to some of the more threadbare and abused patches.

As he stood there, his eyes alighted on a young woman with silver-blonde hair and fierce blue eyes. She stood still very as another seamstress worked her over for her robes. Her French accent was exotic and alluring— just like her poise and the charming tilt of her head.

Bill's head filled with cotton wool as his eyes told his brain to take a swift turn straight to the beautiful new girl—

* * *

Memo: All Employees

From: Head Goblin Markvar

All employees are to report to Agatha's Enchanted Webistry to be fitted for new uniforms, robes, and suits for your position. All employees are to be fitted for casual, formal, and work uniform fittings. Dragon handlers will be fitted for special flame and claw resistant uniforms. You will be permitted to customise for favourite colours and trim to make things more your own. You will be given paid time off to meet your appointments, but if you should miss your appointed time, it  _will_ be taken out of your pay for that week.

* * *

Memo: Gladrags employees

From: Gertrude Lovelace, Manager

We're happy to announce that Ursula Carrington will be joining our team for the design of our new school line "Swift and Thrift" robes for the economy-conscious student. Be sure to plug the quality cotton, flax, hemp, and nettle-blend fabric. Remember, it doesn't have to be silk to be good quality, and we have an excellent dye selection both for daily wear uniforms and dress.

We have also brokered a contract with Agatha's to supply us with the finest silk thread we've seen in ages.

Our two shoppes will be having a winter party to celebrate our new partnership, and everyone is expected to be on their very best behaviour as there will be Ministry officials attending as well.

Be sure to enter the dye and design contest. Winners will have their ideas made reality for the spring fashion release next year, and don't forget all the fabulous door prizes!

The grand prize will be one vial of the amazing Felix Felicis!

* * *

_**The Daily Prophet Presents** _

_**The Yule Ball Fashion Review** _

_This winter's Yule Ball at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry served as a show of the best and worst fashion in the Wizarding Britain._

_From worst to best:_

_[Photo of Lavender Brown in a dress that makes her look like a bowl of fresh blueberries]_

_This dress, crafted by Sanford Greyfolk, while visually stunning, attracted a hungry flock of phoenixes that chased the unfortunate Miss Brown around half the ball before she was forced to change dress robes_

-o-o-o-

_[Photo of Marietta Edgecombe in a vivid yellow dress robe featuring a fluffy yellow feathered collar]_

_This dress, crafted by Bolavinger Castaway, was designed as a tribute to the honourable canary, but thanks to a jilted young lover who attacked their ex with a cloud of brassed-off canaries, they all came to roost on the poor Miss Edgecombe and tried to eat off her birdseed-shaped beading._

-o-o-o-

_[Photo of Ginevra Weasley posing cheekily in a Gryffindor red, sequined, mini-skirted, form-fitting strapless dress with a daring slit up to the left cheek of her bum]_

_Miss Weasley arrived to the ball and attracted much attention as gasps of horror at her shocking impropriety went beyond the showing of mere ankles. While there were indeed many more shocking dresses at the ball, none were as scandalously high cut as Miss Weasley's, nor one that showed off legs all the way up to the hips. Her date, Neville Longbottom, gallantly attempted to offer Miss Weasley a shawl, and our grand Hufflepuff hero, Cedric Diggory, even offered her his gorgeous evening cloak only to be rebuffed and subjected to a shocking burst of profanity from the shameless young hussy._

_Headmistress Minerva McGonagall was seen ordering Miss Weasley to the side before the crowd swallowed them up._

-o-o-o-

_[Photograph of Master Severus Snape, in a black silk long dress robe with dragonhide embroidery]_

_This incredibly elegant robe was the talk of the ball, showing an Asian themed dragon motif embroidered in deep greens and molten silver on black._

_He was seen with his lovely young apprentice, Hermione Granger, who was absolutely stunning in a hunter green and black silk medieval-style gown with delicate silver embroidery, setting off her pale skin and long dark hair, which was intricately braided into a crown upon her head._

_Both wore elegant silver adornments on their wings— a remnant of the confrontation with the convicted Death Eater, Augustus Rookwood, who attacked them both in Diagon Alley and in broad daylight, no less._

-o-o-o-

_[Photograph of Fleur Delacour wearing a sea green and pale blue dress]_

_Beauxbatons visitor and champion, Fleur Delacour, soaked up the stage with her shimmering dress that shifted colour like the moving tide._

-o-o-o-

_[Photograph of Cedric Diggory in a gold-lined black dress robe with his date Cho Chang, dressed in a violet fishtail cheongsam dress robe with pale gold kirin embroidery.]_

_Tournament contestant, Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, and his date Cho Chang caught many eyes with his simple, stylish elegance and his date's subtle beauty._

-o-o-o-

_[Photograph of Viktor Krum in Durmstrang dress robes]_

_While he wasn't alone in wearing Durmstrang dress robes to the Yule Ball, Viktor Krum was, by far, the cream of the crop in his striking crimson robes and elegant fur-trimmed cape._

_-o-o-o-_

_[Photo of Leanne Yeung wearing a floaty cream dress robe with an ivy-like design in gold thread and delicate seed pearls]_

_One of the most stunning dresses of the evening was worn by Hufflepuff Leanne Yeung, who paired with her date for the evening, Terry Boot of Ravenclaw, wearing fine black silk dress robes with a cream bow tie and under-robe to match his lovely date, made quite a handsome young couple indeed._

_-o-o-o-_

_[Photograph of Minerva McGonagall in a deep blue velvet and silk dress robe trimmed in a pewter Celtic cat motif]_

_The award for the most eye-catching dress robes of the Yule Ball goes to the acting Headmistress McGonagall who wore deep blue velvet and silk dress robes fit for royalty. She shared dances with a number of young Durmstrang wizards as well as Master Severus Snape and the always-elegant Professor of Potions, Lucius Malfoy._

_Professor Malfoy's emerald green brocade vest offset with his black and pewter dress robes showed his impeccable taste in formal fashion._

* * *

"So let me get this straight," Severus said as the cat Animagus sipped her tea. "Miss Weasley traded her formal robes with another student who only had a set of robes her supposed "friends" pranked her with? That gaudy, tasteless, scarlet-sequined—  _thing_?"

"Her parents had sent her a humble, badly frayed, frumpy black dress, and her friends tried to help her out—" Minerva sighed. "You know how youthful witches are. They can be just as helpful as they can be cruel."

"So Miss Weasley traded her robes for something vastly more revealing because she was under the impression that more leg was the current fad?" He scowled. "Let me guess, Minerva. Someone helped her think that if she didn't show plenty of leg, she was going to be the talk of the ball and  _not_ in a good way."

Minerva nodded.

Severus pinched his nose. "Why does it  _always_ seem to be a Weasley that is both the victim and at the root of a problem?"

"Miss Weasley was apparently under the impression from her brother that real women 'showed some curve'."

"So she thought Mr Longbottom and Mr Diggory were trying to treat her like a child by offering to cover her up."

"Precisely," Minerva confirmed. She lifted her head as she heard Viktor and Hermione laughing together in the next room. "They seem so stable compared the majority of teens," she confessed.

"They are hardly the norm," Snape said, wrinkling his nose.

"Thank the gods for that," Minerva muttered with feeling.

The corner of his mouth twitched, but he said nothing.

Lucius scowled. "If Draco  _ever_ does anything like that, I'm having him castrated and disowned."

Snape stared into his drink. "A little harsh, don't you think?"

"Fine, just castrated."

Snape drank the last of his drink. "I'm  _so_ glad I'm not a pureblood."

* * *

In the next room, Draco frantically ran over to Viktor and Hermione.

"Quick, make me swear an Oath!"

"What sort of Oath?" Hermione and Viktor asked.

"Make me swear not to  _ever_ act like Ronald Bilius Weasley or Ginevra Molly Weasley. I don't want to lose my bits!"

Viktor raised a brow, but Hermione nodded and reached to clasp his hand. "On your magic, Draco, swear that you will not knowingly ever act like Ronald Bilius or Ginevra Molly Weasley until the moment you are released via mutual consent. So mote it be,"

"I swear on my magic that I will never knowingly act like Ronald Bilius or Ginevra Molly Weasley until the moment I am released via mutual consent. So mote it be."

Viktor waved his wand over their clasped hands, and Draco felt the cord of magic tighten around his wrist.

"So mote it be," Viktor said in confirmation.

Draco slumped, clasping his head in his hands. "Thank the gods."

Hermione eyed him. "Why was this so important?"

"I'm  _never_ going to give my father the pleasure of mutilating me."

Hermione frowned. "That doesn't sound very fatherly to me."

Blodwyn appeared with a tray of freshly-baked biscuits and tea. "Break time! Eat and drink up! No more strange unbreakable vows on an empty stomach!"

She disappeared in a poof of aether.

Draco looked to the side somewhat suspiciously. "How—"

"Mark Spider. You can't hide  _any_ thing from them."

"But that is Severus'-"

"Mmhmm."

"That means he  _knows_ —"

"Mhmm."

"Fuck me!"

"If you think acting like a Weasley requires a vow, just imagine what doing  _that_ will do."

Draco paled and stuffed a chocolate biscuit in his mouth as the sound of Snape's deep baritone laughter filtered through the door and wall.

"Merlin, Severus, what has gotten  _into_ you?" came Lucius' puzzled voice.

* * *

**End of Chapter 6**

* * *

**A/N:** Oh, if Lucius only knew what went on one room over.

I'm going to be reading, eating, and breathing EKGs for a while. Next chapter is not going to be soon. Hope you enjoyed this one though.


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